A Priori
by piccolina789
Summary: A Priori - from what was before. A character study of Sara Sidle, a look into her past and what made her the CSI we know today. Rated M. And of course, eventually, GSR.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This is something different from anything I've ever done. Very different. It a character study of sorts, I suppose, so if you don't like Sara Sidle, I'll let you know right here and now that this is not a story for you. But if you do happen to like Sara Sidle, I'd really like your feedback on this. Because I'd really like to know if there is anyone who would enjoy reading something like this. If there's just one person, I would love to continue posting.

You should know that this story is rated M for several reasons. Some of them are good, some of them are not so good. This story is about Sara's childhood. If violence upsets you, again, not the story for you.

Also, I am a fish out of water writing this story. I am blessed to come from a home where my parents are both very much alive and very much still in love. The internet can only tell me so much, but I'm doing the best I can trying to combine research with imagining what growing up in Sara's shoes would have been like. All the more reason why I'd love to hear your thoughts.

All that said, I really love writing Sara. I don't know if it's because I identify with her on some level, or what, but I really love writing her. I think this is a good story. I'd really like to continue it. Let me know if you'd like that too :)

* * *

><p>When Sara Sidle was born, all the nurses and students and interns on staff at the OB floor that night took pictures with her. She was such a beautiful baby.<p>

She wailed her way through her first few minutes of life, as most babies do, but she soon fell silent, and the nurses were amazed at how quiet she stayed, pulling herself out of slumber only for an occasional yawn or two, as she was passed from arm to arm.

She had defined features, dark, wispy black hair, round brown eyes and bright pink lips. Ten beautiful little fingers and ten perfect little toes.

When Sara Sidle was twelve months, she started walking and spoke her first word. It was 'carrot'. When she was two, she was coloring inside the lines better than most kindergartners and was asking more questions than anyone wanted to answer. At three, she could dress herself, tie her shoes, spell her name and count to one hundred.

When Sara was four, she made her first trip to the hospital.

Her father was drunk, but she didn't know that. All she knew was that he was angry and loud and smelled different, and her mother looked scared. When he fell asleep on the couch, she crawled on top of him, already in her purple polka-dot pajamas, and tried to sleep beside him. He awoke, and pushed her away, knocking her into the coffee table.

The cut alongside her eye wouldn't stop bleeding, even after her mother had held a warm washcloth to it, soothing her daughter, and holding her little body against her chest. She took Sara to the hospital after waking up her brother and dragging him along, and carried her, still in her footie pajamas, to the ER to get stitches. She told the nurses she had fallen out of bed.

From the start, Sara wasn't afraid of hospitals. Her father yelled at her, and her brother pushed her a lot, and she was a brave little girl, even at four years old. And she got a piece of candy from the doctor after he'd placed a bright green band-aid across the gauze covering her stitches. To her, the hospital was a safe place, where people smiled at her and were nice to her, and didn't think she was annoying or talking to much or in the way. No, she liked hospitals.

Which was convenient, as she returned more times than she could count.

* * *

><p>She hadn't been particularly excited to start fourth grade.<p>

Sure, she was excited to get the new pens and pencils and notebooks and folders that marked a brand new school year, and yes, she was looking forward to reading all the new things in all the new books they'd receive. But otherwise, she was pretty sure fourth grade was going to be a lot like third – and second, and first.

Boys chasing the girls around the playground. Girls complaining about it, despite turning towards their friends and giggling about it minutes later. Those same boys making farting noises in science class and social studies and interrupting everything Sara was trying to learn. She must have been the only girl who didn't giggle and find it funny. She just found it plain annoying.

And to make things worse, her best friend Lucas from down the street, the only boy she knew who liked reading books and going on walks more than throwing clumps of dirt and sand at anyone who passed, wasn't in her class. They'd been in the same class since they started school, and he was one of Sara's only friends. That _still _wouldn't keep all the other kids from singing 'Lucas and Sara sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g…"

But then, she hadn't expected Miss Wagner. She was by far the best teacher Sara had ever had. The second week of school, she asked Sara to stay in from recess. She thought she was in trouble, until she sat down and saw Miss Wagner smiling at her.

Miss Wagner told her that she was different – but in a good way. She said she'd been a lot like Sara when she was her age. She told Sara she had a 'great mind', and would she like to take home a few books? Some from Miss Wagner's personal shelf – not for homework, but just for fun.

Miss Wagner didn't treat Sara like a baby, like her third and second and first grade teachers did. She noticed that Sara _liked _learning, and that her eyes got particularly bright during science lessons. She gave Sara all sorts of interesting books, and she read them at night under her covers, pointing a flashlight at the words and focusing on them instead of the yelling that was coming from downstairs or the loud music thudding from her brother Adam's room.

Fourth grade started out as her best year ever. That all changed pretty quickly one night in December.

It was the night before the last day of class before Christmas break. Miss Wagner had given her a new stack of books to read to keep her occupied over the holiday, but Sara couldn't help herself, and she had reached for the topmost book on the stack after she told her mother she was going to bed. She didn't think her mom heard her. Her dad was out again, probably drinking and getting that awful smell on his breath again, and she nodded when Sara tugged on her arm, but she continued to stare out the window.

At some point, her father must have returned, but she was so engrossed in the book, she didn't hear him stomping up the stairs, and didn't have time to flip off her CareBear flashlight and shove the book under the pillow.

"What are you doing?" he growled.

"Nothing!"

"You're supposed to be in bed, girl!"

"Sorry – I'm sorry!"

He took long strides towards her bed, and she scrambled to the very far corner, hugging the book to her chest. Sara Sidle wasn't often scared, but her father was the one thing that never ceased to frighten her. It didn't used to be that way, but it seemed like the more he drank – and he was doing it more and more these days – the scarier and angrier he became.

"What do you have?"

"Nothing!"

He reached out and grasped Sara's arm above the elbow, so hard it made her squeal and release her grasp on the book. He picked it up and glared at it before tossing it to the floor. Sara heard some of the pages tear and whimpered.

"Always reading your goddamn stupid books," he said, releasing his grip on her arm. She resisted the temptation to move even further away from him. "Go to sleep you little shit."

He slumped and sauntered his way out of her room. Sara wiped her cheek with the back of her palm. She hadn't even realized she was crying. She looked up and saw the silhouette of her mother in her doorway, a pained and apologetic look on her face. Sara would have given anything for her mother to just come in, hold her for a little while, and tell her it was going to be okay. She didn't care if she was nine years old. She wanted her mother.

But Laura Sidle paused only in the slightest, before closing her door and walking away.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Sara got up early, crept downstairs and took the container of scotch tape from the drawer in the hall. She taped up the torn pages of her book as best she could. She hoped Miss Wagner would understand.<p>

"Sara!"

Her mother's voice called, but Sara stood still in front of the mirror, tugging down the sleeve of her t-shirt, trying to cover the bruise that had formed on her arm overnight.

"Sara! Lucas is here! Come get your lunch and let's go!"

Sara sighed, grabbed her purple backpack and ran downstairs, grabbing her lunch from her mother.

"Sara, baby, it's freezing outside, why are you wearing a t-shirt?"

"I don't have any sweaters left," she answered, avoiding meeting her mother's eyes. "They're all in the wash."

"Oh," her mother said shortly. "I… I'll be sure to wash them today."

"What happened to your arm?" Lucas asked as Sara reached for her winter coat.

She froze and a deafening, ringing silence settled over the kitchen. Slowly, Sara finally lifted her eyes to her mother's. Her face was filled with fear, anxiety and sorrow.

"I bumped it," Sara replied, shoving her arm into her coat. "Let's go."

Sara and Lucas walked the handful of blocks to the school, and parted ways at the door leading to the fourth grade hall. Lucas's classroom was to the left, Sara's was to the right.

She was the first one in the room. She hung her backpack and coat on her peg and reluctantly unpacked every book Miss Wagner had given her the day before. She gathered them in her arms and walked to the front of the room, to her teacher's big, wooden desk.

"Don't tell me you read all those," Miss Wanger said in shock. "I'll send you to college right now."

"No," Sara said with a small smile. She tipped the stack onto the desk. "I don't think I should have them any more."

"Sara, you can keep them as long as you'd like," Miss Wagner said gently. "Bring them back when Christmas vacation is over."

Sara shifted uncomfortably. She wanted to take the books, she really did. But after last night, she was afraid of reading in front of her father at all, let alone at night like she usually did. She didn't want anything else to happen to one of Miss Wagner's books.

"Sara," her teacher said slowly. "Honey, what happened to your arm?"

Sara snapped out of her daze, caught off-guard, and unsure of what to say. She tried to reform the words she'd told to Lucas earlier, but somehow, they got lost in her throat. Miss Wagner put a warm hand on Sara's arm, and twisted it towards her, inspecting the bruise.

Her touch was soft and gentle, but all Sara could feel was the rough, painful grasp of her father. She twisted her arm away.

"I trip – I mean, I bumped it," she muttered, turning away.

Thankfully, the room began filling with the less than punctual students, and Sara took her usual seat, not sitting up straight and tall like she usually did, but slumped down, trying to hide behind Billy Jones in front of her, so she wouldn't have to see the worried look on Miss Wagner's face.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **You would not believe the week at work I've had. When a news station loses its ability to connect to the internet... well, let's just say not much can get done. It's a miracle we managed to put a show on the air at all.

Anyway, make it a better weekend and leave a review? Thanks so much to everyone who read and commented on the first chapter, you are all fantastic!

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><p>Four days later marked a week until Christmas. Her mother kept asking what she wanted. Sara couldn't think of anything.<p>

Her mother was downstairs cleaning, and she was up in her bedroom, door closed, reading one of the books she'd finally had the courage to dig out of her backpack. The doorbell rang.

They rarely had people come to their house. Her mother didn't have many friends, and there weren't many people who liked being around her father. Adam never brought his friends home. So curiosity drew Sara to the window. She barely had time to glimpse the woman at the door, dressed neatly in all black and clasping a folder or notebook of some sort, before she disappeared into the house.

Sara crept across her room and cracked open her door, hoping it wouldn't squeak. The voices coming from downstairs were muffled, but she could just barely make out the words.

"Mrs. Sidle, my name is Barbara Woods," the woman said. "I'm from Child Protective Services."

Sara could only imagine the look of panic on her mother's face.

"Ch-child services?" she stuttered. "I… I don't understand."

"I'll explain everything," the woman said calmly. "I'm just here to ask a few questions. We got a call, suggesting we come by, and I just wanted to make a preliminary visit."

"Someone… someone called… who?" her mother said. "Who was it? Who called you on us?"

"I'm afraid I can't say, Mrs. Sidle," Barbara Woods said. "But I need to ask you a few questions, and talk to your husband and children. Are they home?"

"My… my daughter," her mother replied. "She's upstairs."

Sara closed the door, not wanting to hear any of the woman's questions. She had an idea of what they would be. She wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but she was pretty sure it was her fault. Lucas and Miss Wagner had both seen the mark on her arm, one of them had probably called this woman and now her mom was going to get in trouble.

Suddenly, she thought of how angry her father would be when her heard that Barbara Woods had been in their home asking questions. She shuddered, and had the inexplicable urge to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head, and pretend she was sleeping. But instead, she pulled herself back up to her desk, and tried focusing on the words in the book before her. For once in her life, it didn't work.

She didn't know how long Barbara Woods was downstairs with her mother, but after a while, she came upstairs, and knocked on Sara's door. Sara didn't say a word, but the woman entered anyway. Her mother was nowhere in sight.

"Hi, Sara," Barbara said, far too brightly. "Can I come in?"

Sara thought it was a stupid question, since she was already halfway into her room, anyway, but she nodded.

"My name is Mrs. Woods," she said, walking near Sara's desk and leaning against the window. "What are you reading?"

Sara closed the book, so the cover was facing Barbara Woods.

"Plant and animal cells," Barbara read, sounding as if she expected a comic book. "Do you always read science books for fun?"

"Mostly," Sara replied. "But I also like Nancy Drew."

Her shelves were lined with the yellow books. Barbara Woods noticed them and smiled.

"I have a niece who's eleven," she said. "But all she reads are magazines about lip gloss."

If Barbara Woods expected that to make Sara laugh, she was wrong. She felt slightly guilty for letting the woman suffer, but she really didn't feel like talking to her.

"How old are you?" the woman tried again.

"Nine."

"I hear you have an older brother," she said. "I do too, his name is Patrick."

Sara bit her lip and nodded, wishing she could just go back to her book.

"Sara," Barbara said gently. "I'm here to ask you a few questions. I know you don't want to, but it would really help me if you did. So here's what I think we'll do. Every question I ask, I'll answer too. And if you don't like one of my questions, you don't have to answer it. Deal?"

Sara considered this. It sounded fair to her. She nodded.

Barbara smiled.

"Good," she said. "What's your favorite color?"

"You first."

Barbara's smile grew wider, and Sara was surprised she wasn't mad at her for talking back.

"Green."

"I like purple."

"Do you like to read?"

Sara nodded.

"What's your favorite book? Mine is called _Pride and Prejudice_."

"I don't have a favorite book," Sara said honestly. "I like them all. But the last one I read was called _Little Women_."

Barbara Wood's eyebrows raised, looking impressed again.

"Tell me about your family," Barbara prompted.

Sara shifted uncomfortable.

"Okay," Barbara amended, sensing her anxiety. "How about this, you pick one word to describe each member of your family. I'll go first. I'd describe my brother as… hungry."

Sara peered at her.

"Hungry?"

"He ate more than anyone I know."

Despite herself, Sara laughed.

"How would you describe your brother?"

Sara thought about it, taking her question rather seriously. And it wasn't an easy to give her a good answer. Her brother used to be fun, and kind. He was older than Sara, but he used to help her build sandcastles at the beach and taught her how to color in the lines. But he was different lately too. Just like everyone else.

"Frustrated," she finally answered.

Barbara looked surprised by her response.

"Frustrated? By what?"

Sara shrugged.

"I don't know," she said. "He's barely ever home any more. But when I see him, he says he's frustrated. But he says I wouldn't understand."

Barbara nodded.

"I'd describe my mother as… quiet," she said. "Her favorite thing to do is knit."

Sara didn't have to think about this one.

"Scared."

And this time, Barbara didn't look surprised.

"Scared of what?"

"She's afraid of a lot of things," Sara whispered.

"My dad is smart," Barbara said. "When I was your age, I thought he knew everything."

"My dad is angry," Sara said quietly.

Barbara nodded.

"Your mom said the same thing too."

"She did?"

"She did," the woman confirmed. "She said sometimes he's angry for no good reason, but he's always angry."

Sara nodded in agreement.

"Honey, remember, for this next question, our deal still stands," Barbara said. "You don't have to answer it if you don't want to, but it will really help me."

Sara waited nervously, staring at her tennis shoes, and knowing what was coming.

"How did you get that bruise on your arm?"

"I banged it," she answered, all too quickly. By the time she looked up, she knew Barbara didn't believe her.

"Are you sure?"

Sara nodded.

The woman put a hand on her knee.

"Honey, everything we talk about will be between you and me," she reassured. "I won't tell anybody, and I won't get you in trouble."

When she remained silent, Barbara Woods tried one more time.

"My next questions, you don't have to say a thing," she said. "Just nod your head yes, or shake it no, okay?"

"Okay."

"Honey, did the bruise on your arm come from your father?"

Sara paused, and nodded.

"Is this the first time he's hurt you?"

She shook her head.

"Does he sometimes hurt your mom too?"

She nodded again. When Barbara spoke, her voice was soft and sad.

"Okay, honey. You did really well."

Barbara stood.

"No!"

Sara's cry surprised both herself and the woman. Barbara stopped, knelt down to Sara, and covered both hands with hers.

"I'm going to do my best to help you," she said expressively. "You won't be in trouble. And you won't get hurt any more. I promise."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Big chapter. I hope I did it okay. Remember - this is all told through a nine-year-old Sara's eyes. So if it seems naive or disjointed, that's why :)

Also, if someone knows the answer to this, please, please let me know, but did we ever learn exactly how old Sara was when her father died? As far as I can remember, all we know is that she was young and/or scared enough to be clutching her social worker's hand, and in 1984, the courts heard a case called the State of California v. Laura Sidle. Cases usually take some time to get to court, especially in a complicated abuse/murder case, and especially when the suspect needs to receive mental evaluation first. So for the purposes of this story, I'm setting Sara's father's death four years before that case was heard, in 1980. When Sara was nine.

* * *

><p>Sara believed Barbara Woods really meant to keep her promise. She was supposed to come back in a week, but she didn't get the chance. How could she have known what would happen four days later?<p>

The first thing she remembered about that night was that it was supposed to rain. She waited by her window for an hour before bedtime, hoping the drops would begin to fall and the sky would begin to rumble. She loved thunderstorms. She loved falling asleep to thunderstorms. Somehow, they made her feel safe. Curled up in her bed with the covers up to her chin, she could just lay there and listen to the patter of the water against her window, and everything seemed like it would be okay. Moreover, her brother hated riding his motorcycle in the rain, so he'd usually stay home whenever it stormed. And her father had to walk back from his almost nightly trips to the bar, so the rain kept him inside too. Sara liked falling asleep knowing everyone was home. She could pretend everything was normal.

But it didn't rain that night. The weatherman on channel three must have lied, or gotten bad information. She waited and waited, but the rain didn't come. So, she heard the standard roar of her brother's bike as it took off down the street, and she heard the front door slam after her father. Just another night.

At some point, she fell asleep. It had to have been the middle of the night when she woke up again. At first, she thought the noises were from a storm finally arriving. It took her a few seconds to realize the thumps were coming from downstairs. Probably Adam or her father finally getting home. She fell back asleep.

The next time she woke, it wasn't because of any noises or storms. It was a hand on her back, shaking her softly. Her eyes were groggy, but she could make out her mother, kneeling beside her bed. She was shaking.

"Mommy?" she murmured. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, honey," her mother whispered, sounding frantic and scared and crazed. "Sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Mom?"

She sat up in bed, but her mom pulled away, backing out towards the door. It was dark, but Sara could just make out something smeared on her arms. Her mother gave her one last look, and ran out the door. Sara watched her go.

There was a smear of red on her polka dot sheets. She couldn't stop staring at it. And she couldn't move.

The police lights were bright. She could see them glaring in from her window. The sirens were loud.

She wanted to find her mother, to run to her and give her a hug. She wanted to know where her brother was. She wanted to know why her father hadn't burst out of the bedroom, yelling about the lights and sirens. But she couldn't move from the corner of her bed, staring at the little smear of red on the sheet.

Someone pounded on the front door. Still, Sara didn't move. She didn't lift her eyes from that little red smear until someone opened her door and burst into the room.

"Adam!" she exclaimed. "What's going on?"

Adam ran to her window and pushed aside the light purple curtains.

"The police are here," he replied, sounding scared. Adam was never scared. "Stay in your room. Don't say anything to anyone."

She felt herself starting to cry. Usually, Adam made fun of her when she cried. Called her a baby. But when Adam turned from the window, he was crying too. Adam _never_ cried. He was sixteen.

He walked over to her bed, his eyes frantically scanning the room.

"Go in your closet," he said. "Stay there. Don't come out."

"Adam—"

But he was already gone, out her door and down the hallway. She pulled the comforter off her bed and dragged it to her closet, shutting the door behind her. There were people in her house now, she could hear them walking around downstairs. The footsteps grew louder.

Someone opened her door. She shrank back into the corner of the small closet, hearing them walk around her bedroom, and hoping they would leave.

"Sara?"

She trembled under the comforter. That voice sounded familiar.

"Sara, it's Barbara Woods," the voice said. "Are you in here, honey?"

Sara sat, paralyzed. Adam said not to come out, for anyone. But Barbara Woods had made a promise, she promised to help her. And Sara was scared. She pushed open the closet door.

Barbara Woods was standing in the dark room, next to another woman, also dressed in black. They both walked to the closet, slowly, cautiously. Barbara Woods sat on the floor, crisscross applesauce like they did in school.

"Hi Sara," she said softly. "Are you scared?"

Sara nodded.

"I'm here to help you," she said. "This is my friend Christine."

The other woman bent over, peering into the closet.

"Hi, Sara."

"She's here to help you too," Barbara said. "Will you go with her? She's going to take you somewhere safe."

Sara hesitated, but when Christine held out her hand, she not only took it, she went straight into the woman's arms. All she wanted was for someone to stay with her. Her mother didn't, Adam didn't. She was tired of being alone.

"Come on, honey," the woman said softly. "Let's get you out of here."

Sara held on to that woman's hand as if her life depended on it. When they walked out of her bedroom, it was like stepping into a nightmare. The house didn't feel like her house. There were people walking around everywhere, radios on their hips and gloves on their hands. They looked at her with sad, sympathetic faces. It smelled funny. Why did her house smell funny?

As they walked down the hall, the smell only got stronger. When they passed the bathroom, there was one of the people in uniform, a radio on his hip throwing up in their bathroom.

The last room before the stairs was her parent's bedroom. The woman put a hand on her back, trying to steer Sara away, but she stopped dead in her tracks. There were a lot of strange people in her parent's bedroom. One of them had a Q-tip and was rubbing it on the wall. There were red drops all over. Sara knew what that was. And all of a sudden, she understood.

She could only see a pair of feet hanging off the edge of the bed, but she didn't need to see anymore to know it was her father. And strangely, she didn't cry or scream. She only gripped that woman's hand harder and let her pull her away.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, her mother sat at their dinner table. She was covered in red. There were even more strangers around her, looking serious and writing things down in their notebooks. Her mother looked up and saw her standing there.

"Sara…"

She couldn't make a sound. This wasn't her house, and that wasn't her mother. Everything was all wrong. And where was her brother?

"Come on, honey," the woman said softly.

The lights outside were red and blue, just like the ones that came in through her window. Sara thought of her bed, and wanted to run back upstairs and jump into it. But she remembered all the red and the strange people and her father's feet, and she squeezed the woman's hand even harder.

There was a long yellow ribbon stretched around her yard, making a big box around the house that was not her house. The people with the radios walked around inside it, but there were even more people behind it. The woman walked her towards a car, one without the lights. She saw her friend Lucas, standing behind the ribbon, holding his mother's hand. He didn't say anything, he just stared at her. That made her want to cry more than anything else.

The woman opened the door to the car, and climbed in after Sara.

"Where's my brother?" she asked quietly.

"He's safe," the woman answered.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm going to find you someplace to stay tonight," the woman said. "Sit tight, we'll be there soon."

The woman pulled a large phone out of her purse.

"This is Christine," she said into it. Sara stared out the window and pretended not to be listening. "I have a nine-year-old female child who needs an assigned advocate and a group home for the night. Yes. Yes, I know the place. Okay."

The building they pulled up to reminded Sara of her school, except darker, and quieter. She looked at the woman skeptically.

"It's not as bad as it looks," the woman said. "You'll see."

But if she was trying to make Sara feel better, it didn't work. The inside was just as quiet and dark as the outside. Sara wondered if it were an orphanage. But… her mother was still alive. She wasn't an orphan. _Where _was her brother? She didn't want to stay here without him.

A woman shuffled out of the darkness, dressed in a robe and slippers. Sara realized she was still in her pajamas too. She didn't bring any other clothes with her.

"This is Sara," the woman said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"How long will she be with us?"

"Just for the night," the woman answered. "We're tracking down relatives, and a case worker will be here to see her in the morning."

"C'mon, Susie," the robed woman said.

"Sara," she corrected.

"Sorry," the woman replied tonelessly. "Come on."

She turned to the woman who brought her here.

"I don't have any relatives," she told her.

"Are you sure?"

Sara nodded.

"Well, we'll work something out," the woman said, patting her arm. "Just stay here for the night, okay?"

She didn't want to go. But she turned and followed the robed woman into a room lined with bunk beds. They were everywhere – placed in no particular pattern, but rather squeezed into any space they would fit. Most of them were filled. Everyone was sleeping. The woman took her to one of the empty ones and hoisted her onto the mattress. She didn't even have time to ask her how she was supposed to sleep without rolling off before the woman was shuffling away.

But Sara didn't have to worry about rolling off in her sleep, because she couldn't sleep. She worried about where Adam was, wondered if all those strange people were still walking through her house, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw red and blue lights, red smears and her mother's face and her father's shoes.

She laid there, trying not to close her eyes, until the sunlight crept through the dusty windows.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **I was going to post this this weekend, but I'm home sick today. Thought I'd use my misery to your benefit, LOL

* * *

><p>They gave her a <em>dress. <em>

She couldn't remember the last time she wore a dress. And worse, it was _pink_.

There were so many things she wanted. She wanted her own clothes, she wanted her books, she wanted to go back to school. She wanted to go look for seashells on the beach with Lucas like they usually did on Saturday afternoons.

Instead, she was stuck in this stupid office, while the robed woman from last night talked to yet another woman dressed in all black. They had plopped her in front of a television, telling her to watch cartoons like she was six years old or something. She had turned it off the minute they left her alone in the room, instead trying to listen to the conversation going on outside.

Nobody would talk to her. But she wasn't stupid, she knew what was going on. She just didn't understand why Adam wasn't there with her.

She wanted to get out of this stupid dress.

The door opened, and both women walked in. The one in all black pulled up a chair and sat across from her.

"Hi, Sara," she said. "My name is Bridgette."

Sara sighed. She was getting tired of all these women in all black.

"I'm your social worker," Bridgette said before turning to robe lady. "Can you… give us a minute?"

Robe Lady shrugged and closed the door behind her.

"Ten," Bridgette said.

Sara furrowed her brow.

"I have a knack for guessing people's ages," Bridgette smiled. "People my age hate it. No, wait… nine."

Sara gave her the tiniest of smiles.

"Do you know what a case worker is?" she asked.

Sara shook her head.

"It means I'm here to help you answer some questions," she said. "I know you probably have a lot. And I'm here to help you find somewhere to live."

"Why can't I go home?"

"I think you know the answer to that," she said, surprising Sara. She had expected her to baby her with some answer, like everyone else had. "I know you've probably talked to a lot of people. But… I'm different. I'll answer anything you want me to."

"What's going to happen to my mom?" she asked immediately.

"I don't know," she sighed. "And that's honest. Right now, she's at the hospital. But Sara, she's probably going to jail."

Sara nodded. That's what she had guessed. Her mother wasn't a bad person. But she did something bad.

"Where's my brother?"

"He's at a place similar to this," she said. "There wasn't enough room here for both of you. We had to split you up. I'm sorry."

"Do I have to stay here?"

"No," Bridgette answered to Sara's relief. "I'm going to do my best to find you somewhere else to live."

"With Adam?" Sara asked hopefully.

"I don't know, Sara," she replied regretfully. "Adam is a lot older than you. I've spoken to his case worker, and we're going to do our best to keep you together, but sometimes, it's out of our hands."

Sara stared down at her tennis shoes. They were the only thing she was wearing that actually belonged to her.

"Do you like pink?" Bridgette asked out of the blue.

Sara looked up, surprised. Bridgette looked dead serious.

"I hate it," Sara admitted. Bridgette laughed, which made Sara smile a little.

"When we find you somewhere to live, you'll get new clothes," she said. "I'll make sure none of them are pink."

Sara nodded, and went back to staring at her shoes.

"Hey, Sara?" Bridgette said softly. "I can't promise anything, but after the police leave your house, I might be able to go get a few things from your room. Is there something you want most?"

Sara almost told her there was nothing she wanted from her house. When she was lying on that mattress the night before, she decided that that house _wasn't _hers any more. She never wanted to go back to it, not ever.

But then…

"My books," Sara said. "I want my books."

"Okay," Bridgette nodded. "Remember, I can't promise you I'll get them. But I'll do my best."

Suddenly, Sara was reminded of something so important, she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before.

"Where will I go to school?"

"I'm not sure yet," Bridgette answered. "But it will somewhere new, and close to your new house."

Sara sighed. She should have figured. She'd already lost her father, mother, brother and home in one night. Figures she would lose her best friend and her favorite teacher too.

"I have to go make some calls," Bridgette told her. "But I'll be back after lunch. With luck, we'll have you in a new home by dinnertime."

The kids at the group home didn't seem much different than the kids at school. The boys stayed with the boys, the girls stayed with the girls. There were some Sara's age, a lot younger than her, and a few who were older. They stood or played in clumps of kids their age. Sara sat on the step to the building, wishing she had a book.

"Hey."

One of the older girls had broken away from her clump and joined Sara on the step. She looked about Adam's age.

"When did you get here?"

Sara peered at her.

"Yesterday."

"I've been here two weeks," the girl said. "Second longest, after Josh."

She pointed out a kid dressed in plaid kicking a soccer ball against the fence.

"I'm Amanda."

"Sara."

"You won't be here long, Sara," Amanda said. "Most kids leave after a few days. You got relatives?"

Sara shook her head.

"Who's your case worker?"

"Bridgette."

"She's one of the good ones," Amanda said. "I've been in the system for six years. I can tell the good ones from the ones who just want you off their hands."

"Why have you been here so long?"

"They only just tracked down a relative," Amanda answered. "An aunt, I guess. She's been volunteering in Africa, and only just found out about me. I'm only here until she can get a flight back."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"Nope. You?"

Sara nodded.

"A brother."

"He's not here?" Amanda guessed.

"No," Sara said quietly.

"That happens sometimes," Amanda said simply.

They fell silent as they watched a group of girls pull a jump rope out of an old shed and start to play with it.

"Isn't that your case worker?" Amanda asked, pointing across the yard.

Sure enough, Bridgette was getting out of the car, suitcase in hand.

"That was fast," Amanda noted. "Told you she was good."

The older girl stood from the step and turned to face Sara.

"Look, I don't want to act like an expert or anything, but I have been doing this for a while," Amanda said. "So rule number one, look after yourself. Cause no one else will. And rule number two…"

Amanda glanced over her shoulder. Bridgette was halfway across the yard.

"If you can help it, don't let this ruin your life," she finished. "Good luck."

"Hi, Sara," Bridgette said as Amanda scampered off. "Are you ready?"

Did she have a choice?


	5. Chapter 5

Her new room had stars on the ceiling. Why hadn't she thought of that? She could lay back on the bed and stare at those painted stars all night.

So far, her new home didn't seem too bad. Nothing like she'd expected. Of course, she didn't know much about foster homes, but Amanda's words of advice made her prepare for the worst.

Bridgette kept her promise, and none of the clothes in Sara's suitcase were pink. In fact, most of them looked like something she'd pick out herself. Bridgette had also bought her a few books, and told her they would hold her over until she could get some of Sara's own. She had read them before, but it was a nice gesture nonetheless.

Bridgette left with the promise that they would see each other again soon. She would be back to check on her often, at least once a week. Sara hoped she would keep that promise too.

Her foster parents' names were Mark and Julia. Bridgette told her they had tried to have a baby of their own, but when they couldn't, decided to open their home to foster children. They currently had three, a sixteen-year-old named James who had been with them since entering the system at age nine, and two ten-year-old twins named Heather and Holly. Their house was enormous, and Sara had her own room. They made pasta for dinner, and Julia told her that family dinners were a must, every night.

"What's your favorite color, Sara?" Julia asked. "We can paint your room, if you like."

Sara paused. Her room at home was purple. She didn't want another purple room.

"It's fine," she said politely. "I like it how it is."

"Well, we still have to do some shopping," Julia continued.

"Shopping?"

"We're having a party tomorrow evening," she said. "Just a few friends. We do it every year."

"Why?"

"Christmas is two days away," chimed in one of the twins. "Duh."

She'd forgotten all about Christmas. She looked over her shoulder into the front hall.

"We decorate on Christmas Eve," Mark said, guessing her confusion. "It's a tradition."

"What did _you _ask Santa for?" the other twin asked. "I asked him for a Barbie."

Sara stared at her. She'd known the truth behind Santa since she was six, and Adam "accidentally" let it slip that it was their parents all along. But judging by the twins' wide eyes, they still had no idea.

"I didn't ask for anything," Sara mumbled.

"Are you _crazy_?" Twin Number One exclaimed through a mouth of pasta.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Mark reprimanded.

"Sorry," she replied, swallowing before she continued. "Don't you want a Barbie?"

"Maybe Sara doesn't like Barbies," Julia suggested.

"Who doesn't like _Barbies?_" Twin Number Two muttered.

Julia shot her a look of warning, but turned back to Sara.

"There still might be time to ask Santa for something," she said, slipping her a wink. "What do you like?"

"I don't like anything."

"That's stupid," muttered the twins.

Sara instantly pegged them as one of the girls who giggled over the boys at school. Mark and Julia may be nice enough, but she wasn't making fast friends with any of their foster kids. James had yet to say a word.

Mark changed the subject, and the rest of dinner went peacefully, but Sara saw him sneaking glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. When all of their plates were empty, the twins cleared them from the table, and James left to load them into the dishwasher.

"Hey, Sara?" Mark called from the living room. "Come here for a sec?"

He was sitting on the couch, watching a baseball game on the television.

"Take a seat, kiddo," he said. "You like baseball?"

"Not really."

"Well, I won't hold that against you," he winked before he shut off the set. "Bridgette tells me this is your first time in a foster home."

Sara nodded.

"We don't have many rules here," he said. "But the biggie is that if you need anything, or if you're worried about something, or if you're having trouble in school – anything – you can talk to Julia or me about it. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Our only other rules are that you help out when you can, and you work hard in school," he continued. "You think you can do that?"

"Yes, sir."

Mark laughed.

"Call me Mark," he said. "And Sara? Julia and I… we're not here to replace your parents. We're here to make you happy and keep you healthy. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good," he said. "Let's shake on it."

Sara gave a small smile as they shook hands. Mark leaned back into the couch.

"Now, I believe you about the Barbie thing," he said. "Personally, I find her a little ugly."

Sara laughed.

"But there's gotta be _something _you like," he said. "Julia will go shopping tomorrow one way or another… wouldn't you rather get something you actually want?"

Sara only hesitated in the slightest. Despite herself, she kinda liked Mark.

"I like books."

His eyebrows lifted.

"You do?"

She nodded.

"Follow me," he said, rising from the couch.

He led her down the hall to a closed door. His hand on the doorknob, he turned towards her.

"This is our secret, okay?"

"Okay."

He opened the door and revealed a huge, mahogany room with floor-to-ceiling shelves, packed with books.

Sara's eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

"I'm a lawyer, but what I really want to be is a writer," he said. "I love coming in here, picking a book, and reading it as fast as I can."

Sara walked to the shelf nearest her, cautiously running a finger over the spines of the books.

"I don't let the other kids come in here," he said. "But Sara, you're welcome to come in here whenever you want."

Sara froze, blindsided by his kindness.

"T-thank you," she stammered.

"You're welcome," he smiled. "Now let's work up a list so Julia has something to get you for Christmas."

* * *

><p>For the rest of the Christmas break, Sara spent almost all her time in Mark's library. She read more than she ever had in her life, and she relished in the comfort and familiarity she found in the pages of the books. Heather and Holly asked constantly where she disappeared to every day, but Julia covered for her, saying she went for walks, or was in the basement helping Mark and James wallpaper the back room.<p>

Three days before school was about to start, Bridgette came to call.

"Hi, Sara," she greeted after finding her holed up in the library. "You look surprised to see me. Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sara said nervously.

"School starts soon," Bridgette said. "Are you ready?"

Sara nodded.

"Well… I'm here because Mark and Julia had an idea and they wanted me to run it by you."

"Okay."

"When school starts on Monday, they think you should join a fifth grade classroom, not fourth grade," Bridgette said.

"Skip a grade?"

Bridgette nodded.

"What do you think of that?"

Sara remembered her teacher Miss Wagner telling her she had a "great mind". She thought of all the extra reading she gave her, and how she often taught her lessons in science and math that she wasn't supposed to learn for a few years.

"Okay, I guess."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," Bridgette smiled at her. "I'll talk to the principal and the superintendent, and we'll try it for a few weeks. See how it goes."

Bridgette came back the next day, after Sara and Julia got back from buying school supplies. Her new teacher was Mr. Roberts, and he taught fifth grade.

Bridgette came back once a week, every week, just like she said. Sometimes Sara was glad to see her, other times she wasn't. She knew that each visit meant that Bridgette was analyzing her, seeing how she was coping. She knew it was just her job, but it didn't make it any more enjoyable.

And truthfully, Sara had no idea how she was coping. After five weeks of living in her foster home, she had finally stopped asking about Adam. She didn't know where he was, but she was pretty sure she wouldn't see him again. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

She wasn't getting much sleep. She'd give it a valiant effort for an hour or two before sneaking out of her room and into Mark's library. Or she'd work ahead in her homework. Or sometimes, just stare at the ceiling full of painted stars. When she did sleep, she had horribly violent nightmares. So she just… didn't sleep.

She had no idea if she'd see her mother either. Bridgette said she was in the hospital, but somehow, Sara knew that wasn't quite true. She found she functioned best when she just didn't think about her, so she tried to block her from her thoughts entirely.

And she threw herself into her schoolwork. She was quieter in school than she used to be. She didn't raise her hand as much. She didn't make any friends. Nobody in her class knew why she had shown up out of nowhere after Christmas break, and nobody liked that she seemed to be the smartest in the class, despite being a full year younger. Heather and Holly didn't particularly like it either.

On the last day of class before spring break, Sara's school held an art appreciation day. They had an entire day dedicated to learning about art, and after lunch, were given a full hour to create their own piece of art, however they liked. Most of the kids automatically gravitated towards sculpting. The gray lumps of clay looked more like fun than serious art. But Sara picked up a few colored pencils and got to work.

The art teacher made a few rounds around the classroom, encouraging the lumpy sculptures that were supposed to be dogs and cars but all looked remarkably like mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving Day. But when she stopped to look over Sara's shoulder, she didn't say a word, and hurried out the room.

When she got home from school that day, her art project in her backpack, she found Mark and Julia sitting on the couch side-by-side, Julia looking worried and Mark just looked serious.

"Sara, honey…" Julie began.

"Take a seat, kiddo," Mark said kindly.

She dropped her backpack at her feet and sat on the armchair opposite her foster parents.

"Sara… your principal called today," Mark continued.

Sara looked up in surprise, feeling her heart pounding and she started to grow warm. Was she in trouble?

"He said your art teacher saw you drawing something… troubling… in art class today," Julia said.

Sara shook her head.

"No."

"Sara, honey, it's okay if you did," she said encouragingly. "We just need to know why you did it."

"But I didn't," Sara insisted.

"Sara—"

Mark held up his hand.

"What did you draw, kiddo?"

"A whale."

Mark and Julia paused, confused.

"Can I see it?" Mark asked.

Sara shrugged and slid off the armchair, marching back over to her backpack and pulling out her drawing. She handed it to Mark, who stared at it for a while, and paused to look at Julia before turning his gaze back to Sara.

"Sara, this isn't just a whale," he said calmly. "This is a dying whale."

"I know."

She had harbored the red pencil for ten minutes so she could color in the water around the creature.

Julia took a deep breath.

"Sara, I know that before you got here, there were some things that happened – some things that you saw… that… might have…"

She was obviously struggling, and the more she spoke, the more Sara got confused and frustrated. Finally, Mark held up his palm again and asked another quiet question.

"Why did you draw this whale, Sara?"

"I read it in _Moby Dick_."

"Moby Dick?" Mark repeated.

Sara nodded, and Mark let out an amused, relieved chuckle.

"Go upstairs, kiddo," he said. "We'll take care of the principal. You're not in trouble."

He gave Sara a hug as he headed towards the kitchen, but Julia still looked worried. Sara headed towards the stairs, but instead of going all the way up to her bedroom, she paused halfway, and crouched on the steps, listening.

"Hi, Mr. Hansen, Mark Richards here, I'm Sara Sidle's guardian?" Mark was saying. "We spoke with Sara… the art project was a misunderstanding, she read it in a book… _Moby Dick_…"

He fell quiet as the Mr. Hansen on the other line spoke.

"She's nine," he said finally. "No. No, I'm sure she wouldn't do that. She's a very bright child, Mr. Hansen… What kind of testing?... I don't think that's necessary… she's a nine-year-old kid, and I don't think drawing something from a book should hardly be considered a violent tendency, let alone warrant psychiatric testing…"

Sara felt a lump rise in her throat. They wanted to test her? Test her for what? Did they think she was sick? Did they think that because of what her mother did, she might hurt someone too? She suddenly felt like crying.

"Look-look… if you had anything to worry about with Sara, we would have told you," Mark continued. "We know her much better than you do, and I know you're wrong on this… well, we're refusing. There's no reason to run those kind of tests on a perfectly normal nine-year-old, it'll only scare her… no, we won't change our mind, but I appreciate your concern. You too. Bye."

Mark hung up the phone with surprising force and his footsteps neared the stairway. She didn't even have time to react, to get her body up on her feet and run up the stairs before Mark could discover her hiding there.

But Mark didn't seem to mind, he didn't scold her for eavesdropping, only met her on her spot halfway up the steps and took a seat next to her. He put a warm, comforting hand around her and pressed her against his side. She didn't cry, but she wanted the hug all the same.

Neither the art teacher nor her teacher Mr. Roberts treated her quite the same after that. It was obvious they believed the principal more than her foster parents. But after a while, Sara decided she didn't really care. She liked living with Mark and Julia. Julia was warm and kind without being overly emotional, like a lot of adults did when they realized she was a foster kid. Mark was funny and played baseball with James, Barbies with the twins and watched movies with Sara.

When school ended, they started planning a camping trip. Bridgette only came once a month instead of every week.

She finally admitted to herself that she was a little bit happy.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Immokk, I'm sorry to say you were right.

CSIFan8686, go watch CSI in bed ;) LOL

* * *

><p>Mark scheduled their camping trip for the Fourth of July holiday, a weekend he and Julia could get off work.<p>

But a week before they were supposed to leave, Julia starting feeling ill. She stayed in bed a lot, and Sara could hear her getting sick early in the mornings, when she was the only other one in the house awake.

After four days, Mark was convinced it wasn't a stomach flu like Julia insisted, called his brother over to watch the kids, as James was at a movie with friends, and took Julia to the hospital. The twins were entranced by "Uncle Andy"'s retriever puppy, but Sara was too worried to play with the slobbering rolly polly dog. She sat by the front window and watched the street until Mark's dark blue van pulled in the drive.

"Is everything okay?" Sara asked they moment they walked through the door. "Is Julia okay?"  
>"I'm fine, honey," Julia said, putting her hand on Sara's head.<p>

But Mark walked her right upstairs and put her in bed. It was only seven p.m.

"What's wrong with her?" Sara asked when Mark returned.

"Nothing, kiddo," he said distractedly. "She's just fine."

He thanked Andy, who gathered up the puppy and left. The twins couldn't stop talking about how they were asking Santa for a puppy next Christmas. Mark smiled and laughed and cooked them chicken nuggets and green beans, but something was wrong. Sara could tell. He wasn't acting like himself.

And when he told them all that their camping trip was postponed, Sara really started to worry. Mark and Julia whispered a lot, walked around with a constant worry on their faces, and their smiles had more sadness than joy.

So when they called a meeting after dinner one night, Sara feared the worst.

"We have to talk," Mark said. "But before we do, we want you to know that we love each of you, and this was a very difficult decision to make."

"What's going on?" James asked.

"I'm pregnant," Julia said. "I had no idea until last week. This wasn't something we… something we planned on."

"I don't get it," Holly said.

"The doctor told us the baby has something called Down Syndrome," Mark explained. "Do you know what that is?"

James nodded, but the twins shook their heads. Sara still seemed unable to react.

"It means the baby has a… disability," Julia said.

"It's sick?" Heather asked.

"No, honey," Julia replied. "It's not sick. It means that the baby will need extra care and special attention. And…"

"You're giving us up."

James' blunt assessment made pained and sad expressions cross Mark and Julia's face.

"Julia will have to stay home full time to look after the baby," Mark continued. "I hadn't told you this, but… I recently lost my job. This is… the hardest thing we ever had to do, but… we don't have any other choice."

Julia's lip trembled.

"We are so sorry," she whispered.

The twins started crying. Sara and James stared in shock.

"You'll stay together," Mark assured the girls. "We made sure of that. Wherever you go, you'll be together."

"You promised to send me to college," James said slowly. "Since fourth grade, you promised…"

Julia pressed her eyes closed.

"James… you're still going to college," Mark said softly. "When you became a part of our family, we started a college fund for you. I know you're eighteen in a few weeks, but…"

"You're adopting me?"

Mark nodded.

The air suddenly became very thick, and Sara had a hard time swallowing it. James was staying. Mark and Julia's baby would be cared for. The twins would find a new family together. But who would be there for her? She had deluded herself into thinking she was part of Mark and Julia's family. She had thought they wanted her, liked her. If they didn't, who would?

She stood from the couch, tore across the living room, raced up the stairs and locked herself in her bedroom. She crawled into the corner of her closet, and refused to come out for anyone.

* * *

><p>She was not going to cry.<p>

She repeated the mantra over and over the night before she was to leave Mark and Julia's. It had been a month since they'd told her, and since, they'd been nothing but apologetic and comforting and kind. Mark offered to let her pick whichever books from his library she liked to take with her. Julia cooked her favorite dinners for a week straight and tried every way possible to get Sara to open up to her. But she wouldn't say a word.

The twins left the day before. They cried buckets, but Sara had no idea why. They had each other. That was a heck of a lot more than she had. They didn't know what it was like being alone.

She _was not_ going to cry.

But Julia did. Mark almost did too. They hugged her and apologized and promised to write. By the time the car pulled up to the curb, Sara was ready to throw herself into Bridgette's arms and make her promise that the next family would keep her.

But the woman who exited the car was not Bridgette. She was at least two decades older, with a stern face and gray eyes.

"Where's Bridgette?" Sara asked, fearing the answer.

"Who?"

"Bridgette," Sara repeated. "My case worker."

"I'm your case worker," the woman said. "You can call me Mrs. Stone."

Mrs. Stone. How fitting.

Sara asked time and time again during the drive what happened to Bridgette. All she could get out of her grumpy new caseworker was that she 'changed jobs'. And that, more than anything, made her want to cry. She had no sense of security any more. That had been snatched from her grasp in one night, but for the last six months, Bridgette had been there, keeping her promises. Now she had abandoned her too.

She made the decision right then and there in the car that smelled of smoke and the woman who smelled even stronger of smoke that she could not and would not depend on anyone from then on. Amanda was right. She needed to look out for herself, because no one else would.

The building Mrs. Stone took her to was not a group home, but it sure seemed like one. There were no less than two-dozen kids inside, ranging from age one to age fifteen. Mrs. Stone didn't even walk her inside, instead leaving her at the door with the two suitcases Julia had packed, mumbling something about coming back for their monthly visit later.

When Sara rang the bell, a gangly, pimply teenage boy answered.

"Who are you?"

"Sara."

The kid stared at her, looking her up and down.

"Whatever," he mumbled and walked away, leaving the front door wide open.

She stood on the porch for a few seconds before taking a deep breath, picking up her suitcases and walking inside.

It seemed like there were kids literally everywhere. Babies crying, kids screaming, teenagers wrestling. She was nearly run over by one who whipped around the corner on a scooter. She backed into the corner of the kitchen and watched the chaos around her.

A girl about her age with long blonde hair and big, blue eyes walked up and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a loaf of bread and a jar of jam. She turned and stared at Sara.

"Who are you?"

"S-Sara."

The girl stared at her a few moments, as if wondering exactly how she felt like handling this new girl. Eventually, she smiled.

"I'm Kayla," she said. "How long have you been here?"

"About… two minutes."

"Oh," Kayla laughed. "Sorry. We have a lot of kids here. Sometimes I don't even meet one until they leave."

"Are there… parents here?" Sara asked.

"One parent," Kayla corrected. "Mrs. Carson. I think she's at the grocery store."

"She left all those babies by themselves?"

"Of course not," Kayla waved. "The older kids take care of them. How old are you, anyway?"

"Nine."

"I'm ten and a half," Kayla boasted. "I think there's an empty bed in my room. C'mon, I'll show you."

She grabbed one of Sara's suitcases, and her hand, and led her through the crowd, up the stairs and into one of the many doors. There were at least five mattresses crammed into the small room. Two of them had sleeping toddlers on them.

"Here," Kayla pointed. "You can have this one. It's right next to mine."

There was no room to unpack, so Sara set her suitcases at the head of the mattress and left all her things inside. Noting the broken toys strewn around the room, she told herself to remember to always keep her books locked away.

"Are you hungry?" Kayla asked. "Do you like jelly? C'mon, I'll make you a sandwich."

She grabbed Sara's hand again, and she could instantly tell that Kayla was going to be exhausting. But she was the closest thing she'd had to a friend in months.

By eight p.m. that evening, Sara hadn't even glimpsed Mrs. Carson. A few hours later, she pulled pajamas from her suitcase, hoping that she could grab a book and find a quiet place in the house (if that even existed) to read a little. But Kayla had other ideas.

"Tomorrow, I'm going to get up early and get one of the bikes from the shed," she whispered through the darkness. "Wanna come?"

"Um. Sure."

"How many homes have you been in?"

"Two," Sara answered. "This is my second."

"I've been in five," Kayla replied, sounding like she was boasting again. "Not because I got in trouble or anything, the families always had to move or couldn't afford it or…"

"Had a baby?"

"That happened once," Kayla mused. "Is that what happened in your last home?"

Sara nodded against the mattress. She hadn't been able to find a spare pillow.

"Do you like it here?" Sara asked.

"It's fine," Kayla shrugged. "Some kids don't like it, but as long as you can take care of yourself, it's fine."

"Doesn't Mrs. Carson…"

"She can barely keep track of how old she is, let alone how many kids she has," Kayla laughed.

"Isn't that… doesn't she get in trouble? When the social workers come?"

Kayla laughed again.

"I've been here almost a year and I've never seen one caseworker come up those steps," she said.

"How come?"

"Dunno," Kayla said. "Guess they have other things to do."

Thankfully, Kayla talked herself out and fell asleep not too long after. Sara wiggled and rolled, trying to get comfortable on her lumpy mattress, and for the first time in a long time, found herself missing home.

But when she closed her eyes, she saw streaks of red and a guy with a radio on his hip getting sick in her bathroom and that funny smell.

She realized she didn't have a home any more.

And then she cried.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **I was overwhelmed by the feedback on the last chapter. Thank you - you guys are the best! I'm so glad that so many of you are sticking with this story, and I can only hope that it will continue to live up to expectations!

Also - what's with the major continuity business regarding Sara's brother? The episode's writer explained it away saying Sara's "brother" as mentioned in "One Hit Wonder" was a reference to a foster brother... I didn't take it that way. So, for me at least, I'm calling it a writer error and keeping Sara's brother as a blood relative.

Also, also - I think I took some major liberties in this chapter. But... if the real writers can do that ^^ I can do this! Right?

* * *

><p>Sara quickly learned that at Mrs. Carson's house, nothing would get done unless you did it yourself. If she was hungry, she had to find something to eat. If her clothes were dirty, she'd better wash them. It wasn't bad, she supposed, but it wasn't great either. And it definitely didn't feel like a home. New kids were in and out every week. Kayla said sometimes they had as many as twenty. She found herself missing her quiet room with the stars on the ceiling and Mark's library more and more each day.<p>

Nobody talked with the principal before she started school. Nobody even talked to her teacher. Kayla told her that the teachers were so used to fosters coming and going, they just sort of… mesh them into the rest of the class and catch them up with the lessons as best they could. Sara was pretty sure her new teacher didn't even know her name.

She turned ten at Mrs. Carson's house. She did get a card from Mark and Julia, just like they said she would. She wanted to throw it away without reading it, but she ended up putting it under her pillow. Otherwise, nobody knew or cared that she was now one year older.

She didn't have a home or a family. She didn't really care if she had birthdays either.

The only thing that was constant was school. The other kids still stared at her funny and whispered a lot and wondered why she was in sixth grade when she was only ten. But she quickly learned that ignoring them was the best strategy. Besides, she wasn't in school to make friends, anyway. She was there to learn.

One week in November, she and Kayla were outside working on their math homework when Kayla suddenly nudged her. She nodded to the drive, where an older woman was walking towards them.

"Mrs. Stone?"

"You know her?" Kayla whispered.

"She's my caseworker," Sara whispered back.

Sara stood, clutching her math book to her chest.

"This came for you," Mrs. Stone grumbled when she reached the porch.

She handed Sara an envelope and shuffled away, back into her car. Sara stared after her in shock and surprise. Not only did she say a total to four words to her after not seeing her for four months, she didn't even notice the state of disrepair the house was starting to fall into.

Sara shook her head and looked at the envelope in her hands. Sure enough, it was addressed to her, and the return address was something called Telecare Corporation. Kayla stood up beside her.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

"Uh huh."

Sara tore a neat slit in the envelope and began reading the professionally stamped letter. She re-read it several times.

"Well?" Kayla asked after several moments.

Sara looked at her with wide eyes. She had no idea what to say. Or what to do.

So she ran.

She ran way past the eight blocks it took them to get to school. Past the playground and into the park preserve. She ran until her lungs couldn't take it anymore, and she collapsed against a tree, pressing her back into the bark and clutching the paper in her fist.

The letter was written from a doctor, on behalf of her mother. He'd used a lot of words Sara hadn't heard of, but she'd gotten the general idea. Her mother was apparently at a hospital in Modesto. And apparently, she was about to be transferred to prison.

And apparently, she wanted to see her before she left.

Sara had done all she could to sever any and all memories associated with her mother, good and bad. And now, she wanted to see her.

What was she possibly supposed to do?

* * *

><p>Everything was white. And quiet.<p>

She'd never been to Modesto before. She wondered why her mother was here instead of a hospital in Tomales Bay. Mrs. Carson's house was in Stockton. Tyler, the pimply kid who had first opened the door to her, told her it wasn't too far away, and that the older kids bought bus tickets and took rides all the time.

So Sara went. By herself. It was probably something a foster parent or a caseworker should have done with her, but she didn't feel like she had either of those lately.

She walked from the bus station to the hospital. It was all white on the outside, and all white on the inside, or at least, the short hall through the front door was. She tried opening the door that lead to the rest of the building, but it was locked.

"Are you lost, darlin'?"

The security guard peered at her. Sara tried to make herself look as tall as possible.

"I'm here to see my mother," she said.

"Are you with someone?"

Sara shook her head.

"Darlin', you need to be accompanied by an adult to enter the premises."

"I… but…"

It had taken all of her and Kayla's money to buy the bus ticket to and from Mrs. Carson's house. If she came all this way… built up all that courage…

The guard looked at her, held his badge to something, and with a buzz, the door before her clicked. He pulled it open and waved her through.

"Sit there," he instructed her, pointing at a chair.

He turned his back towards her and called someone on the red phone hanging on the wall. Moments later, a man dressed all in blue came and entered the office. The two spoke quietly, throwing glances her way. They turned back towards her together.

"What's your name, honey?" the guard asked.

"Sara."

"Sara what?"

"Sara Sidle."

"Sidle?" the blue man repeated. "You're Laura's kid?"

Sara nodded.

"She hasn't stopped talking about you all week," the man in blue said. "How on earth did you get down here?"

"I took the bus."

"Took the…" the blue man trailed off, shaking his head. He looked at the security guard. "This stays between you and me."

The guard nodded, and the blue man put a hand on Sara's shoulder and led her down twisting white hallways. Sara peered into a few of the rooms that were open. Some had people in them, dressed all in white. Others were empty. Everything was eerily quiet. Unnaturally so. It made her want to get back on the bus and run straight back to Mrs. Carson's house.

They went through several locked doors until they came to a room with several tables. The man in blue stayed right next to her, but didn't speak a word until the door on the other end of the room opened.

Her mother was there, dressed all in white. She looked surprisingly normal, albeit, rather more thin and pale than Sara remembered. Another man, also dressed in blue, but a different shade than Sara's Blue Man, had a strong hand on her shoulder. He directed her towards Sara, and sat her on the opposite side of the table.

"You know the rules, Laura," he warned.

Sara could only blink and stare at her mother, lost for words. She thought of several things she could say to her mother, but now that they were face-to-face for the first time in almost a year, she couldn't think of a single one.

"Hi, baby," her mother whispered. Her hand made an unnatural movement, as if she wanted to reach out and touch her, but thought better of it. Sara wondered if that was against the rules. "How are you?"

She wasn't sure how she was supposed to answer that question. She had left a foster home completely unnoticed, taken a bus to a city she'd never been before and was now seated in a mental hospital across from a mother who wasn't allowed to touch her.

"Fine," was what she came up with.

"How's your brother?"

Sara swallowed.

"I don't know," she said truthfully. "I haven't seen him since…"

Laura's eyes suddenly began glistening with tears.

"I thought… I thought they'd keep you together," she choked. "Are they… do they treat you all right? Where you live?"

"I guess so."

"I'm so glad you came," Laura whispered. "This last year… I've missed you so much… are you still in school?"

"Sixth grade," Sara answered.

"Sixth?" Laura repeated. "Oh, baby, that's so good. I'm so proud of you."

She was staring at Sara like she might disappear if she blinked. Sara squirmed uncomfortably.

"Sara," her mother said softly, sadly. "I am so sorry, baby. For everything."

Sara shifted even more.

"I'm leaving here soon," her mother continued. "And then… I have to go somewhere else. But Sara, when this is over, we can be a family again. You, me and Adam. I promise."

A year ago, those words might have filled her with hope. But she remembered the promise she'd made to herself months ago – not to depend or trust anyone. That included her own mother.

She just nodded.

"Laura," came the voice of the man on her mother's side of the table. "Time's up."

"Everything is going to be okay, honey," Laura said, wiping away her tears. "You'll see."

The man walked over, put his hands on her mother's shoulders, and made her stand.

"I love you, Sara."

Sara nodded, and her mother was walked out of the room. The man in blue led Sara back through all the doors and all the hallways until they were at the office with the security guard.

"You have a way to get home?" he called as she passed.

"I have a bus ticket," she said. "To Stockton."

"Stockton?" the guard repeated. "You came all this way alone?"

Sara nodded.

"From Mrs. Carson's house."

And she left. The whole way back, she stared emotionlessly out the window. Was she supposed to feel relieved, or happy? So many of the other kids at the house had no parents at all. She had one, one who promised to take her back.

But she had gotten pretty good at telling what was the truth from what was a lie. And everything her mother just told her sounded like a lie.

About a week after Sara's visit, a CPS official made their way to Mrs. Carson's house. It took very little time for them to empty the house and start sending the kids away. When Mrs. Carson got into the car with the red and blue lights, Sara heard one of the men with the radios say something about child neglect.

She didn't get a chance to tell Kayla goodbye.


	8. Chapter 8

Her next caseworker wasn't a woman in all black. It was a man in all black. He told her to call him Bob, and said that she could say it forwards or backwards, if she wanted. He thought that was pretty hilarious. She thought it was pretty stupid.

She had two foster parents again, Mary and Dave. They had two sons of their own, who were fourteen and thirteen. They had a foster son who was nine. Sara was the only girl.

Mary and Dave yelled at each other a lot, but they never yelled at her, so she supposed they were okay. Dave was good at geometry, and helped her with her homework, if he had time and wasn't at work. She had her own room again, but it didn't have stars on the ceiling. They never asked if she wanted to paint it her favorite color. They never asked her much of anything. That was fine with Sara. She was tired of… she was just tired.

She turned eleven at Mary and Dave's. And twelve. She got cards from Mark and Julia both years, although the one she opened on her twelfth birthday had a significantly shorter message. She realized that their baby was almost three now. She didn't even know if it was a girl or a boy.

Dave drove his two sons to high school every morning, but Sara and Max, the other foster kid, had to walk. She told herself it was because middle school started thirty minutes later, and that would make him late to work. But she knew she and Max were never really equal in Dave's nor Mary's eyes. Nor to either of their boys, for that matter.

Sara joined the eighth grade science team so she could stay at school longer. They weren't really a "team" per se, because they didn't participate in any competition-related event. Mostly, they just hung out in the science labs on Tuesdays and Thursdays and put together their own experiments under the watchful eye of their teacher. When she didn't have science club, she'd stay and do her homework in the library until it closed at five. That way, she could get home in time for dinner and disappear into her room to finish the rest of her homework.

One Thursday, the science teacher, Mr. Giffords, was sick and the substitute couldn't stay, so he canceled science club. The library was closed early so that the student council could have their monthly meeting. So Sara trudged home, hours earlier than she normally did, wondering if she could make her homework last all night.

She hadn't even left school grounds when she heard it. Soft, methodical thumps, and the low murmur of excited voices. They were coming from around the corner, where the eighth graders were allowed to park their bikes. She inched cautiously around the corner and saw a group of boys circled around another, smaller boy, taking turns kicking him in the back and stomach. Between arms and legs, Sara realized that they smaller boy was Max. She didn't think twice before she dropped her backpack to the ground and bolted around the corner.

She shoved her way into the circle.

"Stop!" she cried. "Stop it!"

The older boys kept laughing and kicking. One caught Sara in the back of the knee, and she fell to the pavement, scraping her hands on the cement. She pushed herself back up and launched herself at the closest bully.

"Stop," she said forcefully as she pushed against him with all her strength. She didn't recognize him. Maybe he was from the high school.

He stumbled backwards, but he was a good foot taller than her, and twice as big. He caught himself easily and lunged back at her, catching her wrists and pinning her around against the wall.

"You little bitch," he growled.

"Leave him alone."

"Aww," he said vindictively. "The freaks stick up for each other."

One of the other boys found that ridiculously funny.

"Freaks," he laughed.

Sara twisted in his grasp, but he was much too strong for her. Desperately, she did the only thing she could think of. She kicked him in the crotch.

He released her immediately, grabbing his aching parts. She backed away from him, by Max.

"You're gonna pay for that," he growled before motioning to his friends. They ran away.

"Are you okay?" Sara asked, kneeling next to Max.

"Get off me," Max said, shoving her hand off his shoulder. "I don't need help from a stupid girl."

Max grabbed his backpack from under the bike rack and ran off. She stood frozen in the alleyway until she felt something warm drip onto her chin. She wiped at it with the back of her palm. Her lip must have been bleeding. She got her backpack from around the corner and walked the rest of the way home.

Max didn't look at her once at dinner that night. Mary was working late, and Dave didn't even notice Max's black eye, or Sara's cut lip.

* * *

><p>When Bob the caseworker came around the house for his next visit, Dave and Mary told him they "couldn't do the foster thing anymore". They told him their sons were in their tricky teenage years, and they wanted to focus all their energy on them. It was a few weeks before Sara's thirteenth birthday. Bob had a hard time finding her a home that time. It seemed like teenagers weren't as in demand as children were. That made for an awkward couple of weeks.<p>

Eventually, Bob was able to move her into a home not too far away from Dave and Mary's. She had just started the ninth grade – high school – and he wanted to keep her in the boundaries of the same school district, if possible. The couple, the Jacksons, had two teenagers, so Bob assured her they would be perfectly happy with a thirteen-year-old on her fourth home.

What he failed to tell her was that the couple's seventeen-year-old son was the star of the basketball team, and their fifteen-year-old daughter was on the cheerleading squad. He couldn't have found a rounder hole to try and fit her square peg.

Sara was their only foster, which was something new. Both parents worked, but they told her one of them would always be there to see them off in the morning, and someone would be home to cook dinner at night. Jeremy, Mr. Star Basketball Player, would drive the three of them to school each morning.

"How old are you anyway?" Jenna asked from the front seat Sara's first morning with them. "You look, like, twelve."

"I'm thirteen."

"Shouldn't you like, be in eighth grade?" Jenna inquired, hardly taking her eyes off her mirror and lip-gloss applying.

"I guess," Sara shrugged. "I skipped a grade a couple of years ago."

"So, what, you're like, freakishly smart?"

"Jenna," Jeremy said, elbowing her. "Lay off her."

He glanced in the rearview mirror and gave her a small smile. She smiled back.

Two weeks into her stay with the Jacksons, she received another letter from Modesto, California. It too, was on behalf of her mother, but from a lawyer rather than a doctor. Her mother apparently had a court date approaching, and she wanted Sara to come.

Thirteen-year-old Sara felt a lot older than ten-year-old Sara. And she knew her answer right away this time. She was not going.

January brought the ever-important basketball tryouts, and though it was obvious that Jeremy was going to make the team, he was still outside on the drive every night practicing. Every night, she heard the thump, thump, of the basketball against the cement as she tried to do her homework. She opened her bedroom window and leaned outside.

"Don't you ever stop?"

"Not until I make the NBA," Jeremy grinned up at her. "You ever play?"

"Uh, no."

"Well, what are you waiting for then?"

"I have homework," Sara said automatically.

"Pull your nose out of the book," he teased. "And come down here and show me what you've got."

And miraculously, somehow, Sara found herself doing just that. She stood on the pavement, a basketball in her hands, staring at a hoop.

"I am _not _a sports girl, you know," she said.

"I wouldn't have guessed," Jeremy said. "Here."

He stood behind her, covering her hands with his palms, and raising her arms until the shot was aligned. He paused for just a second, before bending her arm backwards, then forwards, pushing the ball out of her hands and into the basket. Sara turned around, eyes wide with surprise.

"It's not too late to try out," Jeremy laughed.

"Yeah, right," Sara quipped as she retrieved the ball. "Only if you're there to help me with every shot."

She threw the ball back at him. He dribbled for a few seconds before shooting a perfect layup.

"I heard you joined the science club," he said. "You know that's social suicide, right?"

She shrugged.

"I like it."

Jeremy shook his head and passed her the ball.

"You are something else."

She took a shot from the left side of the basket and missed by a mile. The ball ricocheted off the side of the garage and bounced into the street. Jeremy ran after it.

"Okay, maybe you shouldn't try out."

"Told you."

Jeremy took another shot, and the ball hit the rim and bounced off. Sara caught it.

"You need to stop hanging out with me," she said. "My horrible skills are ruining your game."

Jeremy laughed.

"Hey, where do you eat lunch?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"I'm pretty sure we have the same lunch period, but I never see you," he said.

"Oh," Sara said, dribbling the ball and shooting it. Another miss. "Um, usually I eat in the library or the science lab."

"You should eat lunch with me," Jeremy suggested.

"Right," Sara scoffed. "I'm sure your basketball friends and I would find tons to talk about. Not to mention they're all seniors and I'm a freshman."

"Hey, they'll make exceptions," Jeremy smiled. "Especially if the exception is pretty like you."

Sara felt herself growing very hot.

"Sorry," Jeremy said quickly. "I just made this very weird."

Sara let out a giggle she didn't know she had in her.

"It's okay."

The next day, Jeremy made Jenna sit in the backseat. And Sara, for the first time in her life, sat at the popular kids' table at lunch. People stared. A _lot _of people stared, but there were some benefits to having Jeremy as a friend. The kids who had beat up Max last year were in high school, and though they didn't exactly bully Sara, they didn't make school particularly enjoyable, either. That all but stopped after Sara starting eating lunch at Jeremy's table.

Sara stayed in the science club (and won first place with her biology project in the science fair), but she also went to basketball games. Jeremy was having a killer season, and his coaches expected him to get offered a full ride to play basketball in college.

The only thing holding him back was his English grade. He was failing – miserably – and not only would he not go to college, but he wouldn't graduate high school if he didn't pull it up.

At first, Sara wasn't going to say anything. She didn't want to embarrass him by offering to tutor someone four years older than her. But she had been reading high above her grade level for years, and Jeremy was in the, well, not so smart English class. Sara had read a few of the books on his required list just for fun.

So at lunch, instead of talking about the weekend's big party, they re-read Shakespeare. After basketball practice, Jeremy met Sara at the library and go over the conventions for writing a good essay.

She wasn't sure when she first realized it, but eventually it occurred to her that Jeremy was her first crush. It might have been when Jeremy covered her hand with his in the quiet library as they shared a copy of _Hamlet_. Yeah, he was a little older than her, but the fourteen-year-olds in her own classes were a little too concerned with how much muscle they thought they had.

By March, they'd pulled Jeremy's grade up to a C. He took her to a diner and bought her a milkshake to celebrate.

"You know, not many people celebrate getting a C," Sara laughed over her chocolate and whipped cream.

"Yeah, well, I'm just glad I'm not failing," Jeremy said. "It'll be a miracle if we can get it to a B."

He slurped his cookies 'n cream.

"I couldn't have done it without you, you know," he said.

Sara felt her cheeks flush, and hoped they didn't look as red as they felt.

"It's nothing," she muttered.

A group of Varsity basketball players walked through the front door of the diner.

"Jeremy!"

"Dude!"

Jeremy waved at him, and looked guiltily back at Sara.

"It's fine," she said quickly.

"I drove you here."

"I'll walk home," she insisted. "It's like, four blocks."

"Sara—"

"Go!" she laughed. "Seriously."

He shot her a grateful look, grabbed his shake, and slid out the booth, joining his friends. She finished her shake, honestly not minding in the least. He was already too nice to her, and anyway, they already ate lunch together, she understood how ruthlessly he'd be teased for hanging out with the thirteen-year-old freshman outside school too.

They'd already paid, so she slid out the booth and made for the door when she gulped down the last bits of shake. Jeremy shot her a smile from the table full of jocks across the room. She gave him a small wave, walked home, and for the first time in years, didn't fall asleep thinking of a book.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Don't hate me.

* * *

><p>In June, Sara wrapped up her freshman year with a 4.3 GPA, Jenna's cheer squad won at State, and Jeremy graduated with a full ride on a basketball scholarship to California State. The Jacksons threw him a massive graduation party in their backyard, full with thudding music and a whole lot of teenagers.<p>

Sara stayed up in her room for the first part of the party. Jenna and Jeremy were the only two people she knew, and they were much too busy with friends to bother with her.

So the knock at the door surprised her.

"Hey."

Jeremy was in the doorway, in his new CSU sweatshirt.

"Hi."

"There's a bonfire out there," Jeremy said.

"Yeah, I… I saw," Sara replied, gesturing to the flickering light outside her window.

"What, you don't like s'mores, or something?"

Sara raised and lowered a shoulder. Jeremy rolled his eyes at her, and crossed her room, grabbing her by the hand. Outside, he shoved a particularly dimwitted friend of Jenna's off the log nearest the fire and sat on it. Sara took the empty stretch beside him.

He grabbed a roasting stick and attached a marshmallow to the end of it.

"How do you like it?"

"Golden brown," Sara grinned.

He held the stick over the flames.

"You gonna be okay without me around here next year?"

Sara swatted at a mosquito.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," she replied as he flipped the marshmallow over. "What about you, you think you can take on college without my Shakespeare classes?"

Jeremy laughed as he pulled the stick from the fire and nodded towards the box of graham crackers. Sara reached for one, broke it in half and held it open for the marshmallow. Jeremy placed a third of a chocolate bar on top.

"You are the only thirteen-year-old I know who reads Shakespeare for fun," Jeremy joked. "But I'm not complaining. How is it?"

"Perfect," Sara said through a mouthful of s'more.

"You got a little… mellow."

He reached out and wiped something off her cheek.

"Thanks," she mumbled, taking the last bite.

"You wanna, uh, go for a walk?"

Sara brushed the crumbs off her jeans.

"What about your friends?"

"They won't miss me."

Sara shrugged.

"Sure. Okay."

They walked away from the party, and started into the stretch of woods that backed up against the Jacksons' property. Away from the fire, the air was cool and crisp, and Sara hadn't grabbed a jacket. When she shivered, Jeremy noticed, and he took off his navy sweatshirt and handed it to her.

"Thanks."

"I'm gonna miss you next year, you know," he said offhandedly.

"Oh yeah?" Sara said as she wrapped her arms around herself. "Why's that?"

"Because you're smart, and funny and… pretty," he replied. "And you don't care about things like how much makeup to wear."

He reached out and tugged her arm until they were unfolded. He reached into the sleeve of the sweatshirt and found her fingers. The noises of the party were well behind them. Her brain was processing things behind her body. She'd never felt... attracted to anyone before. But the closer Jeremy got to her, the more her stomach squirmed.

And then, he was kissing her. She had absolutely no idea what to do. Should she close her eyes? What did she do with her hands? But as best she could, she kissed him back.

She was on cloud nine, barely registering that she was getting her first kiss from the popular basketball player, when she realized he was kissing her so hard, she was starting to lose her balance. She tripped backwards a couple steps until her body made contact with a tree, and she had nowhere to go. Jeremy's hands were on either side of her waist, against the trunk. She turned her head to the side, breaking her lips' contact with his.

"Jeremy…"

He gripped her chin and turned her face back towards him, pressing his mouth on hers again. She wiggled and squirmed, but he held firm to her chin. Finally, she pulled away.

"Stop—"

"Oh come on, you were practically begging for it," Jeremy said roughly, moving his hands from the tree to her waist. He moved them up her shirt. She had only just started wearing a bra.

She was confused. This was Jeremy – her friend, her crush. The boy who bought her milkshakes and gave her rides to school. Why wasn't he stopping?

Without any warning, she shoved against him.

"I said stop."

She started to walk past him, but he caught her arm, and twisted her around so roughly, she slipped on the leaves beneath her and fell to the ground. Jeremy was on top of her, holding her upper body down firmly. She twisted her hips and kicked, but Jeremy was an athlete. He overpowered her, easily. He shoved up the sweatshirt and her t-shirt, and pressed his palms against the fabric of her bra.

She screamed into the night, but even as the noise escaped her mouth, she knew no one from the party would be able to hear her over the music. Jeremy covered her mouth with his to muffle her shouts, he bit her lip, making it bleed, and making her cry instead of scream.

He kept his upper body pressed against hers, but his hands were on the waistband of her jeans. She twisted again, and this time, her knees bucked up and made contact with his chin. He was momentarily frozen, one hand still on her waist, and the other cupping his jaw.

Her mind finally started working into overdrive and told her to run – and run fast. She kicked at him again, in the chest, and tore off, through the woods and towards the sound of music and happiness and laughter. She ran past the party and into the house. Jeremy and Jenna's parents were nowhere to be found. She ran up the stairs and into her room, locking the door behind her. She praised whatever power existed that she had agreed to getting a phone for her room, though it had barely had use. With trembling hands, she dug out Bob's number from the bottom of her backpack, and punched at the buttons.

She'd never called her caseworker to get her, but there was no way she could stay in this house one more night. She didn't tell Bob what happened, but told him she didn't want to stay here any longer, and could he come get her, please.

She kept her door locked as she packed, and only opened it when she was sure it was Bob that stood outside in the hall. She carried her two suitcases out to his car without a second glance back at the house or at the party still going on behind it. Bob asked once, twice, three times, if she was okay and if anything had happened.

She shook her head and just said no, she was ready to leave.

It wasn't until they got to the group home where she'd be spending the night that she realized she was still wearing his sweatshirt.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: **Posting a little earlier than I planned, because I've got to go be a bridesmaid in a friend's wedding this weekend! Plus, we've had beautiful, summer, 80 degree weather across the midwest, so life is good! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend, and if you've been reading, but haven't left a review yet, please do! I'd love to hear from you!

* * *

><p>It took Bob even longer to find her another foster family, and she ended up staying at another group home for the rest of the summer. It was awful.<p>

The wife reminded Sara of a quieter, meeker version of her own mother, obviously battered, but choosing to stay silent and suck up the abuse. They had eight foster kids, boys and girls, young and old, and the husband hit them all.

They were one of the couples that pressed makeup over everyone's bruises before caseworker visits, and told them to smile or else. The home that could just barely pass off being a happy, normal home, when in fact Sara had begun getting used to feeling the sting on her face.

Staying in that home shut her up real fast. She didn't talk to any of the other kids. She'd disappear for hours on end, just wandering around or trying to find something to do, because she knew no one would care. She grew stony, because only stone wouldn't chip.

At some point, she gave up. On caring. On almost everything, but the beginning of the school year was rapidly approaching. She had been absolutely stubborn on the fact that she wanted to transfer to another district. But when mid-August came around, she started having to decide between the worst of two evils – going back to the school with all those kids who knew Jeremy, or staying in the group home, and possibly not going to school at all.

Fortunately, Bob came by the home exactly one week before the start of the new school year and told her he'd found her a suitable home. Bill and Marjorie West were both in their sixties. They had one child, a grown son, and though they particularly liked playing chess in the garden outside and going to Bingo night on Wednesdays, they wanted to have a kid in their home again. A month away from fourteen, Sara wanted to argue she was hardly a kid, but her relief for finally finding someplace to stay made her bite her tongue.

Yet, on the car ride to her next home, she didn't feel excited or hopeful. She really didn't feel much at all. She kept her head tilted back against the seat, slumped down a little, arms crossed in front of her. She had really tried hard not to become 'that' kid, that stereotypical foster kid, but she'd seen and heard and faced too much.

When Bob pulled the van into the West's drive, she saw the couple standing hand-in-hand in the doorway, a huge banner that read, 'Welcome!', hanging above them. Sara pulled her suitcases – the same ones Julia had given her all those years ago – from the backseat and made her way up the perfectly manicured walkway.

"Oh, hello, sweetheart," Marjorie exclaimed as she approached, and pulled her into a hug. "Oh, Bill, look how beautiful she is!"

Sara smiled politely. She didn't think there was anything beautiful about her pale skin, long legs and dark hair.

"Hello, dear," Bill greeted her cheerily, taking her suitcases. "Welcome to our home."

She was surprised to find that she was the only child there – foster or otherwise. That was a new experience for her. The West's house had four bedrooms, and they let her take her pick of the three empty ones. She chose the one with the beautiful French window that overlooked the backyard.

"Oh, Sara, we're so glad you're here," Marjorie exclaimed, hands clasped, as they set her suitcases down in her new room. "So many things to talk about… but, oh! We should let you unpack. What do you like to eat, sweetheart?"

"Um, just about anything, really."

"How about a pot roast?" she suggested. "We should do something special for your first night!"

"C'mon, dear, let's let Sara catch her breath," Bill said, his eyes twinkling. "Call us if you need anything."

Sara was exhausted by the end of dinner. She's answered so many of Marjorie's endless questions, she felt like she should have won a game show by now. All she wanted to do was retreat up to her room and pull out a chemistry book. She wanted to be ready when she started sophomore year next week.

But the Wests had other ideas. The moment Bill was done washing the dishes; she pulled out a pack of cards and asked Sara what she liked to play.  
>"I don't know," she said honestly. "I haven't played a card game since go fish."<p>

"Oh, let's teach you something then," Marjorie exclaimed. "Hearts? Pinnacle?"

Bill wiped his hands on the dishtowel and hung it on the rack over the sink.

"No daughter of mine is going to play those froo-froo games," he said. "Break out the chips, dear, it's time for a poker lesson."

Sara's head snapped up at the word daughter. She'd been in this house less than four hours. Didn't these people know how the system worked? Didn't they realize that this was Sara's fifth… or sixth, she'd begun to lose count… home, and that she'd likely be gone in a year?

But Bill was grinning at her like he had no idea of the implication of what he'd just said. He merrily divided up the chips between himself, Sara and Marjorie, and launched into a lesson of five-card stud.

* * *

><p>Two days before school, Marjorie bought her more clothes than would ever fit in her two suitcases. On her very first day as a sophomore in high school, she cooked her the biggest breakfast Sara had ever seen – eggs and toast and hash browns and sausage links and waffles and yogurt. She handed Sara a homemade lunch, and when she opened it a few hours later, she found a note inside.<p>

Bill drove her to school every morning on his way to work, and told her how, when she turned fifteen, he'd teach her how to drive.

On September 16th, they took her out to dinner and then back home to the biggest stack of presents she'd ever called hers. When the last one was unwrapped – it was a journal – Marjorie disappeared into the kitchen, and when she came back, she was carrying an enormous chocolate cake, complete with fourteen purple candles, because she noticed Sara never wore anything pink.

Bill was good at history, and helped her write her essays for AP Euro. Marjorie was surprisingly athletic for her age, and taught Sara how to throw and hit a softball, so she wouldn't embarrass herself in PE.

They were delighted when she told them she joined the science club, and when she brought home her report card at the end of the semester, it went straight on the refrigerator, held up with a magnet that read, 'Way to go!'

They did fun things on the weekends like visiting Alcatraz and the California Science Center. On Christmas break, Sara went on her first-ever vacation, camping in Mammoth Lakes.

She was constantly surprised by Bill and Marjorie. She had initially thought their enthusiasm would be exhausting, and would only wear on her, but instead, they lifted her up when she didn't even know she was down. They were old enough to be her grandparents, but theirs was the first home since Mark and Julia where Sara felt like she was there because someone wanted her to be.

She kept waiting, waiting for something bad to happen, waiting for Bob to show up and tell her she couldn't stay there any more, waiting for Bill and Marjorie to tire of a hormonal, generally shy and bookish fourteen-year-old girl. She couldn't help herself. No matter how stable and happy they continued to be, she didn't allow herself to fully trust that it would continue. That was who she was.

But they never did.

And Sara prayed every night – to whatever powers there were – that it would stay that way.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **I'm sorry I haven't been able to reply to all your reviews! I post on the weekends, and then things get so busy during the week, I always forget! But I appreciate every single review, and it was great to hear from a few of you last chapter who hadn't reviewed before! Thank you!

Guess what I got to do this week? I toured a real crime lab and interviewed CSIs! Saw DNA being processed, played with fingerprint powder, watched the GCMS run samples. It was AWESOME! :)

* * *

><p>Junior year brought three important things into Sara's life.<p>

The first, acquired the day after her fifteenth birthday, was her driver's permit. Bill was true to his word and took her out that very day, pretending not to be nervous at all and teaching her to drive on San Francisco's steep hills. She wasn't allowed to drive without someone over the age of eighteen, but she still carried that permit around in her purse like it was a real license.

The second was a class called physics. She had a wonderful teacher, Mr. Lawson, who was young, with bright blue eyes and a bright smile to match. He took notice when Sara picked up the material faster than anyone else, despite her age difference, and started acing every test he gave. He offered to tutor her after school, just for fun, and urged her to enter a competition where she'd have to complete her own physics-related research project. When she won, she was excited, but she was even more excited when she realized she'd discovered something she truly loved. She _loved _physics.

The third was a boy named Michael. They were nothing alike. He was in art club and had four siblings and a loving mother and father who were defying the country's growing divorce rate. He had sandy blonde hair, and though he wasn't the most popular boy in school, a lot of girls liked him for his freckles and his dimpled smile. But fate made them lab partners, and raging teenage hormones made them boyfriend and girlfriend.

He took her miniature golfing and bowling and to the movies. He wasn't interested in the parties going on every weekend like most of the other kids were. He taught her how to draw, and for Valentine's Day, he wrote a poem about her.

In March, they were assigned the annual bridge project. Each of the teams of two in the physics lab were handed a stack of wood and told to make a bridge out of it. In April, they'd test the bridges, and see which one could hold the most weight.

Most of the kids either built a crappy bridge in one night to get it over with, or left until the day before it was due, but the day they got the assignment Michael went home and called an uncle in Phoenix who was an architect. He got all kinds of tips from him, then researched the aerodynamics of bridges and what kinds of supports held the most weight. When he came to school the next day, with pages and pages of notes and designs, Sara felt an inexplicable urge to kiss him.

He suggested that they take the wood to his house, his dad had a shop in the garage they could use to build their bridge.

"I have art club on Thursdays, and you have science team on Mondays and Wednesdays, so I thought we could work on it Tuesdays and Fridays," he rushed excitedly. "And on weekends, if you want."

"Um. Sure," Sara said. "That would be fine."

He tilted his head and examined her distracted gaze.

"What?"

"You look… worried," he said.

"I'm not worried," she shot back.

Michael held up his hands in surrender.

"Okay."

"Okay, maybe I am," she admitted.

"Why? Because of my parents?" he guessed. "They're totally non-scary, I promise."

Sara laughed nervously, and Michael wrapped her fingers in his, despite both of them having a severe hatred of PDA in school.

"They'll love you," he assured.

So that afternoon after the last bell rang, Sara met Michael in the back parking lot. He had his license _and _a car. Sara had stayed behind after ninth period to ask the principal's assistant a few questions, so most of the lot had cleared out.

"Hey," Michael smiled at her.

"Hey."

Michael lived in a house that looked like something out of a home magazine, and though his parents were overprotective, they mostly just wanted him to be happy.

They walked through the door and Sara was greeted with the smell of freshly baked cookies. Forget a home magazine, this was something straight out of _Leave it to Beaver_.

"Hi, Mom!" Michael called.

"Hi, honey," a voice called before Mrs. Brown rounded the corner. She was dressed in a pleated skirt and a neat sweater. "How was school?"

"Fine," Michael replied. "Are these for me?"

"For both of you," his mother smiled. "You must be Sara. It's nice to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Brown."

The woman positively beamed at her.

"Make yourself at home," she assured. "Have some cookies!"

Michael filled a plate with cookies, poured two tall glasses of milk and led the way out to his father's workshop in the garage.

Sara was pretty sure that no other team in the lab would have as much fun as they did building a bridge. They laughed… a lot… and got glue in a lot of places it shouldn't have been, but Michael showed her how to make an even cut in the wood. He studied his designs carefully, making sure he knew exactly what he was doing before he did it. He consulted her before every step, and together, they worked through a few of the problem areas.

Sara was smiling the whole time.

They worked until the sun faded through the windows around them and nighttime fell. Sara had no idea how late it was until she looked up at the clock. She'd told Bill and Marjorie she'd be working on the project with Michael, but she said she'd be home in time for dinner.

"Oh," Sara said, disappointed. "I have to get home."

Michael's face fell.

"Oh," he said. "Well, it looks good so far!"

"Michael, it looks like a bunch of wood strips glued together," she laughed.

"Well, it looks good for a start," Michael grinned. "We'll work on it again Friday?"

Sara nodded.

"Friday."

Friday afternoon, Sara walked into physics bouncing with excitement. She'd talked of nothing but their bridge since Tuesday night, and Bill had taken her to the hardware shop the night before to buy an extra-strength bottle of glue to use on the supports and some paint. Painting the bridge wasn't part of their requirements, but Bill thought it would give their bridge some pizzazz.

When she told Michael, he was just as excited.

"That's awesome!" he exclaimed. "Let's swing by your house after school to get it!"

And at once, Sara was anxious again. She hadn't told Michael she was a foster kid. She didn't know if she planned to. It wasn't that she was ashamed of Bill and Marjorie, quite the opposite, but she saw the pity in people's eyes when they heard she was in the system. She didn't want sympathy. And moreover, she didn't want to constantly be worrying if Michael was only staying with her because he felt bad for her.

But there really wasn't any way around it. So Sara's knee bounced nervously throughout the rest of her classes, and by the end of the day, her nails had been bitten until they bled. Michael met her in the lot and they drove to Bill and Marjorie's house. It was a Friday afternoon, they would both be home.

"You know, maybe I'll just run in and get it," she said. "It's right on the kitchen counter, I'll just be two seconds."

She reached for the door handle.

"Sara… is there a reason why you don't want me to go in with you?" Michael asked hesitantly.

Sara sighed.

"No. Come on."

Bill was sitting at the kitchen table doing the crossword when they walked through the front door.

"Hi, sweetheart," he greeted.

"Hi," she smiled. "This is Michael."

"Michael!" he exclaimed getting up from his seat. "Bill West. How's the bridge coming?"

"Pretty well," Michael smiled.

"Marjorie's in the garden, let me get her," Bill said, moving to the open back door. "Marjorie, dear! Sara's boyfriend is here!"

Sara felt her face flush. Michael moved his fingers a few inches and brushed them against hers. Marjorie practically bounced through the door, pulling dirt-stained weeding gloves off her hands.

"Oh, Michael, dear, it's so nice to meet you," she beamed. "I'd give you a hug, but I'm a little unsightly!"

Michael laughed.

"We're, uh… here to grab the paint and glue," Sara rushed. "We might be working late tonight, if that's okay."

"Of course, sweetheart," Marjorie said. "Just call us if you need a ride."

"Oh, I can bring her home Mrs. West," Michael put in. "I'm a really good driver, I promise."

"I'm sure you are," Bill laughed. "Just be safe."

"Have fun!" Marjorie called after them.

They climbed into Michael's car, and Sara wondered why her stomach still felt like it was twisted in knots. She loved having Bill and Marjorie as her foster parents. It was the whole… thing behind it.

But thankfully, Michael didn't ask the question Sara would have bet ten bucks was on his mind. And for the second time, she felt the overwhelming urge to kiss him overcome her. Once in the shop, they laid the pieces out before them.

"Okay, let's start cutting and gluing the supports," Michael said. "I'll take this pile, you take that one?"

Sara nodded, Michael turned on the radio in his car, and they began their laughing, talking and woodcutting. Once Sara had all her support beams cut to exactly the right dimensions, she reached for the bottle of extra-strength glue. Michael reached for it at the same time, and his hand wrapped around hers. She felt the heat from his palm seep into the back of her hand, and her heart started pounding against her chest. She suddenly became hyper-aware of all her senses, the music thudding in her ears, the smell of sawdust in her nose, and mostly, the feel of Michael's fingers on hers.

He took a step towards her, both of their hands still on the glue bottle, and used his other hand to push back a piece of her hair that had fallen from her ponytail. His eyes looked greener when they were this close, and they looked nervous and excited all at once.

And then, he was putting his lips on hers, softly, cautiously. And just as quickly, he pulled away, as if making sure what he did was okay. She smiled at him, and this time, it was her head that closed the few inches between their faces. Their mouths met again. His lips were so soft.

And suddenly, every other sense melted away, and all Sara could feel was Michael kissing her.

"Michael!"

His mothers footsteps approached from behind the closed door. They broke away, breathless and red in the face.

"Michael, dinner's ready," she continued as she opened the door. "Sara's welcome to stay. Do you like tacos, Sara?"

"Yeah," Sara said as calmly as she could manage. "I love tacos. Thank you."

His mother left, and if she noticed anything, she kept it to herself. Sara turned back towards Michael. He was grinning.

After dinner, while the glue dried on the supports, they went for a walk to the beach. On Saturdays, they often came and collected seashells, just for fun, but they'd never gone at night before. They walked all the way to the end of the pier and sat on the edge, dangling their legs off the side. Michael took her hand.

It wasn't like she was an expert, but Sara was pretty sure that what they did next classified as making out. She didn't know how long she kissed Michael for, but she didn't really care, because all she wanted was for him to keep kissing her back.

Finally, when they did pull back for air, they looked at each other, smiling shyly and giggling. Michael took her hand again, and they lay back against the dock, backs pressed against the damp wood. The stars were out in full. Sara took a deep breath of the night air and sighed softly, contentedly.

"Your parents don't think I'm out getting you in trouble, do they?" Michael teased.

"No," Sara laughed. "They trust me. So they trust you, too."

"They're very nice."

Sara squirmed against the dock.

"Michael," she began slowly. "Bill and Marjorie… they're not my parents."

Michael rolled his head over to look at her.

"Grandparents?"

She shook her head.

"No. They're my foster parents."

"Oh," Michael said, his mouth forming a perfectly round O-shape. "I didn't know."

"I know," Sara replied, squeezing his fingers. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Why?"

"Huh?"

"Why are you sorry?" Michael clarified.

"Well… it's… kinda a big secret to keep," she stammered. "I didn't want it to make you think… differently… of me."

"It doesn't make any difference to me," he said honestly. "It doesn't matter if they're your parents, or grandparents, or foster parents… they love you. And… you love them too, right?"

"Yeah," Sara said softly after a pause. "Yeah, I do."

"Then you're a family," he said simply. "And that means you're just the same as me and my parents."

The third time Sara felt that overpowering urge, she didn't have to resist it. She positively launched herself on Michael. They rolled around on the dock as best they could, keeping clear of the edges that offered a straight drop to the black water, both wondering why in the world they hadn't tried this sooner.

"Thank you," Sara gasped between contact.

Michael kissed her once, twice.

"For what?"

"For not asking about my real parents," she said. "And not asking why I'm in foster care."

Michael gave her a painfully adorable half smile that only just showed off his dimples.

And then he kissed her some more.


	12. Chapter 12

Sara was adamant about it – she did _not _want to go to prom. She told Michael it was all about inflated expectations fueled by teen movies, cheesy music and finding dresses that could somehow be altered to show more skin in between mothers buying them and boyfriends seeing them.

She did not want to go to prom. She told him she'd rather just hang out in his basement and watch movies, or maybe just drive around and listen to music on the radio that would probably be infinitely better than what was playing at prom. Besides, they were only juniors, and they could go next year, if they wanted.

He asked her anyway.

And a teeny, tiny (okay, large) part of her was kind of excited he did. But there was one little (okay, big) problem.

"I hate dresses," she told Marjorie as they peeled potatoes for dinner.

Marjorie laughed.

"Sara, honey, you look beautiful in anything," she said. "But I think you'll stick out a little if you show up to prom in jeans."

Sara sighed.

"Can we just try to find something without too much glitter?" she pleaded. "Or poof. And nothing pink!"

The next weekend, Bill handed Sara his credit card and told her to buy whichever dress she liked. Marjorie took her from department store to department store. Sara didn't really see the point in trying on eight hundred dresses – two was more than enough for her – but she did it for Marjorie. Even if the dress was the gaudiest thing on earth, or didn't fit her right, each time she stepped from the dressing room, Marjorie's eyes nearly filled with tears and she couldn't stop saying how beautiful Sara was. You'd think she was trying on wedding gowns.

At department store number six, Sara found a dress buried in the back of the rack. It was deep, dark purple, with not a sequin or ruffle in sight. No big, gaudy bows or rainbow colors like the dresses she heard all the girls talking about at lunch. The top was a halter that tied behind her neck, and the hemline went just below Sara's knees. It was the only one left in stock, and when it fit her perfectly, Marjorie exclaimed that it was meant to be, and actually did burst into tears.

"Just wait until Bill and Michael see you in this dress!" she cried. "Oh, Sara…"

On the night of prom, Marjorie loaned Sara her curlers, and when she took them out, her curls actually had some shape and bounce to them, unlike the usual mess they were left in. She dug a plastic bag out of the cabinet below her sink. She swore to herself that she wasn't compromising her feminist tendencies by sinking the low levels of physical beauty. She just… wanted to look nice.

And besides, it was just mascara and a little blush.

She had no idea what she was doing, and it took her a few tries to get it right, but when she finally did, she had to admit that the final product wasn't too bad. The mascara made her eyelashes stand out against her pale skin, and the blush defined her cheekbones.

"Sara!" Bill's voice called. "Michael's here!"

She took a deep breath, exchanged her robe for the purple dress, slipped her feet into the black shoes Marjorie had found on sale, and walked to the top of the stairs. Bill was holding his camera, Michael was holding a plastic box with a purple corsage and Marjorie was holding a box of tissues. She shifted uncomfortably, she usually avoided being the center of attention as much as she could, but she caught Michael's eye and she couldn't help but smile.

Bill insisted on taking more pictures than were possibly necessary, some with Michael and some with just Sara herself, until Marjorie ushered them out the door, telling them to be safe and to have fun. Sara kissed both of them on the cheek, and took Michael's hand as he led her to his car.

"No one is going to _believe it_ when I walk in with you on my arm," Michael said. "You look _so _pretty, Sara."

"You don't look too bad yourself," she grinned. "We lab geeks clean up nicely."

"_And _we had the best looking bridge in class," Michael laughed. "What more could you ask for?"

Most of the prom was pretty stereotypical. There were balloons all over the gym in the school colors. Teachers lining the sides of the dance floor making sure nothing got too out of hand, although it wasn't too hard to pick out which kids showed up drunk or high. The music was pretty bad, the cookies were stale.

But for Sara, it was nothing but typical. Looking back, she could hardly remember any of the dresses the other girls wore or the songs they played or how many times the principal had to break up a fight. She barely noticed the relationships that ended in tears or even the commotion the quarterback of the football team caused when he tried sneaking in two full bottles of vodka.

All she could remember were the things she and Michael talked about, how much they laughed, and how handsome he looked in that rented tux. They left way before the dance ended, and went down to their normal beach, the one they had begun to frequent every weekend. They walked along the shore a while, before Sara got so much sand in her shoes she could barely walk.

"Jump on my back," Michael said, turning from her.

"What? No—"

"Jump!"

Sara shook her head, laughing, and jumped onto Michael's back, shoes in hand. He took off down the shore, into the water, and Sara shrieked as the drops of water splashed up against her bare legs. Michael ran until his lungs were about to give out, and he slid Sara off his back and twisted around to face her.

She hoped she never got tired of kissing him.

* * *

><p>That summer, Michael left for summer camp. He was leaving for the entire month of July, and Sara didn't know what she was going to do with herself. Since school ended, they had celebrated the end of their toughest year yet (and a near-perfect score on Sara's ACT and SAT) by spending every day together.<p>

The morning he left, his parents waited patiently in the packed van, not minding that Sara was delaying their head start to Colorado. She stood in front of him, telling herself that she wasn't the kind of girl who cried over a boy.

"I made something for you," Michael said, producing a piece of paper torn from his sketchpad. "It's you and me. On our beach."

Sara stared at the drawing. He was an incredible artist.

"Thanks," she whispered.

He glanced over his shoulder to his dad waiting in the driver's seat, who subsequently diverted his gaze. Michael wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her shoulders.

"I'll miss you," he said.

"I'll miss you, too."

When the van pulled away, Sara walked back to Bill and Marjorie's, went upstairs, and pulled a thick manila envelope out from under her mattress.

She stayed away from the beach that July. It made her miss him too much. They wrote letters while he was gone, but they took far too long to arrive, and he didn't have a phone at camp.

So she spent a lot of time helping Marjorie in the garden and playing cards with both of them at the kitchen table. They were delighted to have more time with her.

She also spent a lot of time filling out the application she'd sent out for. It was an early decision application to Harvard. She hadn't told Bill or Marjorie or Michael about it. Since she'd gotten it in the mail a few weeks ago, she hadn't looked at it at all, she was too afraid of finding something that would keep her from getting into her dream school.

She knew her grades weren't a problem. Her academic adviser told her on the last day of school that if she kept at the pace she was going, she'd likely graduate as valedictorian. Her participation in science club, and the awards she'd won at their competitions were more than enough to fill the extra-curricular activity requirements, and she knew several teachers who would write recommendation letters for her. And of course, it didn't hurt that she would be graduating at sixteen, a full year younger than any of her classmates.

The money was a problem, though.

But she tried not to think of that, as she slowly started filling out the application and writing her essay.

All she could think of was that girl named Amanda she met her first day in foster care. _Don't let it ruin your life. _

When Michael got home from camp, he dropped his duffel in his drive and sprinted the couple blocks to Bill and Marjorie's. He burst through their front door, through the house and into the backyard where Sara was outside reading. He was laughing and crying at the same time as he kissed her right there in front of both Bill and Marjorie.

"I missed you so much," he said. "I love you, Sara. Let's never go that long without seeing each other again."

She nodded into his shoulder, gripping his back, not fully aware that he just told her he loved her. He held her head in his hands.

"I mean it," he grinned, his eyes scanning her face. "Never again."

She didn't have it in her to tell him she had her heart set on a college 3,000 miles away.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Have a great weekend! And don't forget to leave a review :)


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **This chapter brought to you by the guys at the Des Moines Apple store who saved my computer (well, they didn't exactly save it, I had to buy a new one, but STILL. They saved my hard drive.) I thought this story was gone forever!

Have a nice weekend!

* * *

><p>The day Sara turned sixteen, she got her driver's license. And the first thing she did with it was drive around town and pick up job applications.<p>

She was employed two days later.

It wasn't that she felt guilty for the things Bill and Marjorie bought for her, she knew they weren't trying to buy her over. They bought her nice things because they wanted to. When she came home with the announcement that she was Chuck-E-Cheese's newest pizza server, they assured her she didn't need to get a job, and that school came first, and that as long as she continued getting good grades, she was more than paying for her fair share. But part of her still felt like she was taking advantage of them, and somehow, having a job and earning her own money to pay for her burgers and fries and trips to the bowling alley with her friends made her feel better.

Plus, when she told Bill and Marjorie she was saving up for college, they stopped arguing with her about it. All fall, she completed her Harvard application piece by piece. She used money out of her Chuck-E-Cheese fund to pay the application fee. And in November, she sent it, and it was all out of her hands. And nobody except she and her teachers knew about it.

As graduation approached, Michael started dropping hints about them going to college near each other. He had his mind set on the California Art Institute. And his suggestions that she apply to San Francisco State University became less and less subtle with the passing weeks.

"C'mon, they have a Science and Engineering department," he said over Mexican food, as if that would convince her.

"Michael, pretty much every school has a science department," she said, rolling her eyes.

"_Exactly_," he stressed. "So why not go somewhere close to home?"

Sara sighed.

"Michael, my advisor told me today I'm going to be the valedictorian," she said.

"Seriously?" Michael said in awe, his jaw dropping. "Sara! That's amazing! I'm so proud of you."

He pressed a kiss against her cheek.

Sara sighed again.

"Well, I just… I don't know if San Francisco State is quite… reaching my potential."

Michael nodded, looking solemn.

"So… what are we saying?"

She pushed rice around her plate.

"Look, it's spring break," she said flatly. "We have… weeks to figure this out. Let's just… not talk about it now. Okay?"

"Okay."

He left it alone for a few weeks. But each time the college topic was brought to the table, it always ended in an argument. Sara still hadn't mentioned Harvard, but she hinted that she wanted to go out of state. Michael wanted to stay near to home. Sara didn't. And who were either of them to change that?

"Sara!"

Her pen stilled in mid-air. She'd told Marjorie not to distract her until her valedictorian speech was finally finished. This had to be important.

She burst from her room and skipped down the stairs.

"Is it here?" she asked breathlessly.

"Yeah," Marjorie said, looking as nervous and excited as Sara felt.

She had finally told Bill and Marjorie about her Harvard application. And true to their character, they weren't confused or upset over why she hadn't told them, but were ecstatic and full of positive encouragement that she would get it.

Marjorie handed her the envelope. She could do nothing but stare at the seal on the top right corner. She heard Bill walk into the kitchen behind her.

"Open it, honey," he encouraged gently.

With trembling hands, she tore open the side of the envelope, and with slow-motion-like speed, slid out the folded letter inside.

"Dear Ms. Sidle," she read. "We appreciate the interest you have shown in Harvard University. This year, a record number of gifted and talented students like yourself applied for acceptance to the School of Engineering and Applied Sciences."

She let out a deep breath and raised a trembling hand to her lips.

"I am delighted to inform you that the Committee of Admissions has voted to offer you a place in the graduating class of 1991."

She lowered the letter and raised her gaze to meet Bill and Marjorie's, who were grasping hands.

"Oh my god," she said slowly. "I got in. I got in!"

She fell into Bill and Marjorie's embrace. They clutched her to them and told them how much they loved her and how proud of her they were.

"Read the rest of the letter Sara," Bill encouraged. "What else does it say?"

Her eyes skimmed the remaining paragraphs as she felt a second wave of shock sweep through her.

"I got a scholarship," she said in awe. "A full ride. Oh my god."

And the second round of hugs commenced.

* * *

><p>The next day was prom, and Sara made the executive decision to wait to tell Michael about Harvard until after the dance. They'd been arguing enough lately, she wanted to make the night a perfect one, one in which they could just relax and have fun.<p>

Her dress that year was a deep maroon, and she wore just a little more makeup than she did the year before. Michael's corsage matched it perfectly, and for a while, the night was as fun and perfect and fairytale-like as it was when they were juniors.

Before the last dance, the principal took the microphone.

"I hope you all are having a wonderful time," he said. "This next dance is for the seniors, the class of 1987. Good luck in college, and we will miss you."

The couples applauded politely and went back into their partner's arms for one last slow dance. Michael reached out and pushed a curl out of her eye before placing both hands on her waist.

"Are you going to tell me?" he asked in a low voice.

"Tell you what?" she deadpanned.

"Sara," he said tonelessly. "Graduation is two weeks away. I know you. You don't leave decisions until the last minute. I know you know where you're going."

She took a deep breath and nodded.

"Yeah, I do," she whispered. "But I was going to wait until tomorrow. I don't want anything to ruin our night."

"It won't ruin it, Sara," he said. "I'm proud of you. I'll be happy for you wherever you decide to go."

Another deep breath.

"Okay," she breathed. She ran her hands down his arms, stopping at his elbows. "I'm going to Boston."

Michael gaped at her.

"B-Boston?"

She gave him a small smile.

"I got into Harvard, Michael."

For the slightest second, she thought she saw fear, and maybe even anger, flash in his eyes. But before she could think any more about it, he smiled, and his eyes returned to their piercing shade of green.

"That," he said. "Is so great. Talk about reaching your potential, huh?"

She smiled.

"Yeah."

"What do Bill and Marjorie think?"

"They're thrilled," she said as the song came to an end. "Not with the idea of me being so far away, but… they just want what's best for me."

She gazed at him. The gym was starting to clear out.

"What are you thinking?" she asked softly.

He shook his head.

"Nothing," he said. "I'm happy for you."

She dropped his hands.

"No, you're not."

"Sara…"

"What happened to being 'happy for me wherever I go'?" she asked.

"It's not… it's not that I'm not happy for you," he explained. "I just… I'm sad too. Because I'm losing you."

"No, you're not," she assured. "People… make this work all the time. We can too."

He shook his head in defeat.

"Sara, you're sixteen, beautiful and smart," he said. "And you're going to college. I think we all know what that means."

And a few seconds later, when he turned and walked away from her, leaving her alone in a gym full of balloons and cookie crumbs, she knew exactly what that meant.


	14. Chapter 14

She went through the motions of the next few weeks, graduation practice, senior brunch, shopping with Marjorie for a graduation dress. But it was obvious that her heart wasn't in it. She couldn't go anywhere without being reminded of Michael. He couldn't look at her. She started to wonder if she there was such thing as early move in.

The last thing she needed to do before graduation was to finally finish her graduation speech. No distractions this time – not for anything – she told Bill. She sat at her desk in front of the big French window, but she couldn't get a word to squeeze out of her pen.

For the first time in a very long time, she started to think about her brother. She wondered where he was, and whether he had gone to college. He was twenty-three now. Did he go to their mother's trial? Was he married? Working? Did he think about her?

She realized something else. When she turned sixteen, it was the first year since she was ten that she didn't get a card in the mail from Mark and Julia. She did more quick math and realized that their baby was no longer a baby. He or she would be six, the very age that Sara started being recognized by the doctors and nurses at the hospital, they were there so often.

She shook her head. This was not going to get her speech written.

Downstairs, the phone rang. It stopped after only a few rings. Bill must have gotten to it quickly. Marjorie was at the store, buying things for Sara's graduation party. She didn't know exactly why she was having a party in the first place. It's not like she had many friends. Or a boyfriend.

And then, she realized she'd lived with Bill and Marjorie almost three years, much longer than she had stayed with any one else. She realized that for the first time since she was nine, she _did_ have a home.

"S-Sara?"

Sara groaned and put her forehead to the desk. What part of _not for anything_ did Bill not understand?

"Sara, honey," his voice called. "I-I need you down here."

Her brow furrowed. He sounded… anxious. Bill was _never _anxious.

"Yeah?" she called from the top of the stairs.

"C-come down here, honey," he said. "I need to talk to you."

Bill look every bit as anxious as he sounded. His hands were shaking and he paced back and forth around the kitchen, not looking Sara in the eye.

"I just… I just got a call," he stammered. "I… there's been an accident. Marjorie… she's been rushed to the hospital."

She felt like she'd been struck by lightening.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, honey," he said, running his hand through his hair. "They think it might have been a heart attack."

"What?" Sara whimpered. "No…"

"We… we have to get to the hospital," he said distractedly. "We gotta… we gotta go…"

"Okay," Sara stammered, trying to get herself together, for Bill. "Okay. We need, um, keys."

"Keys. Right."

Bill's hands were shaking so hard, the keys fell to the floor with a clamor when he grabbed them from the counter.

"Bill," Sara said, wrapping her hands around his. "Let me drive."

She didn't remember much about the drive to the hospital. She didn't remember parking, or running through the hallways trying to find the elevator. Mumbling unintelligible sentences to the front desk of the ER.

What she did remember was the doctor coming out of the double doors, looking somber. That was a moment she would remember for the rest of her life.

"Mr. West?" the doctor asked. "I'm Dr. Shepherd. I was the responding doctor when your wife arrived earlier."

"H-how is she?" Bill asked. "Can we see her?"

"You can see her," the doctor said calmly. "But Mr. West, I'm afraid, it's not good news."

* * *

><p>Michael held her hand throughout the entire funeral.<p>

A lot more people showed up than Sara expected. Apparently, Marjorie had been quite the activist in her younger years, and volunteered at every homeless shelter and food pantry and animal shelter she could get to. She made a lot of friends, and she helped a lot of lives.

It had been a heart attack. It was what both her parents and grandparents had died of. But she had a stubborn streak, and she refused to take heart medication, believing that working in her garden and being happy and active would keep her healthy.

Sara didn't remember much of what the doctor told them that day. She had a loud ringing in her ears, and it felt like someone was sitting on her chest. She shrank to the floor outside the door. Bill was inside, holding Marjorie's hand and crying. Sara couldn't bring herself to see her. She said her goodbye from the hall.

Bill and Marjorie's grown son, Jonathan, flew in from Florida for the service. He didn't say much to Sara, but he did hug her, and told her it was okay to step out for a while when the visitation was beginning to be too much.

"Are you okay?"

Sara looked up to see Michael. She had no idea how he found her in the bathroom, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, but something told her it was her sobs that gave her away. He sat next to her on the tile and took her hand.

"That was a stupid question," he apologized.

She gave a choked laugh.

"I'll be fine," she said. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," he said, pausing. "I'm really sorry, Sara."

She smiled sadly.

"I never know what to say to that."

"I'm… I'm sorry for everything," he clarified. "I love you. I should have…"

He sighed.

"You're the smartest person I know," he said firmly. "You deserve to go to the best school, no matter where it is. Can we… go back to how things were?"

Sara took in a long, slow breath. She wished things were that simple.

After the crowds had cleared, Sara found Bill sitting alone in the garden outside. He was holding a file in his hands, and when he looked up at her, his eyes were red-rimmed with tears. Sara hesitated, but he waved her over, and she sat beside him on the wooden bench. He handed her the file.

She looked up at him in shock.

"You were going to adopt me?"

Bill nodded and smiled sadly.

"We were going to wait until graduation day to give you the news," he said. "I… I know you're going off to college and all, but we wanted you to have a home to come back to, at Christmas and during summers… if you wanted to, of course."

Sara felt a very large lump rising in her throat, and she was having a difficult time swallowing it.

"That was really nice of you," Sara said quietly.

"Oh!" Bill startled. "Oh, Sara, I didn't mean we _were_. We _are_, or, I am. It's a little more complicated being a single parent, but… I mean, if it's something you want, I would—"

"Yes."

"I… you're sure?"

"Yes. Absolutely, yes."

Bill's smile nearly broke her heart. She leaned in to hug him.

"I love you, Sara."

She squeezed her eyes shut tight.

"I love you, too."


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Just want to say thanks to all of you who have stuck with me this far! I wish I could update this story more regularly, but I so appreciate your patience, and I look forward to posting each week to see what you have to say! Thanks so much x

* * *

><p>Somehow, she got herself through that summer. She got through her speech, and graduation.<p>

She wasn't sure what she would have done without Michael that summer. Bill insisted he was fine, he insisted he that Sara should spend as much time as she could with 'that lovely boy' before she left for college. But she still made sure she was home each night for dinner, cards, and left every other weekend free to go fishing with him.

Because he wasn't fine. He was not coping with losing the love of his life, and Sara was at a complete loss of how to help him. He also insisted that she helped just by being herself, but to Sara, that wasn't nearly enough.

She did the best she could, but she was still only left with the hopeless feeling that it wasn't enough.

There were two good things that came out of that summer. The first were her adoption papers finally arrived in the mail for her signature. Marjorie and Bill had apparently started the process over a year ago, so that they would be able to finalize the process before she left for college. She was proud and excited to be Bill's daughter, though she had felt like it since day one.

The second was the re-burgeoning romance between her and Michael. They had decided to try as best they could to maintain their relationship in the fall, despite attending school across the country. Michael assured her again and again that if they loved each other, they would make it work.

But eventually, August came upon them, all Sara's belongings were packed into Bill's car, who had retired early in order to rise early for the cross-country drive to move her in. Michael and Sara lay in her bed, the French window wide open and a cool summer breeze ripping through the room.

They didn't say much, Michael's hand covering hers as it rested on the blankets.

"I'm going to miss you so much," she whispered. "Promise me we won't end up hating each other."

"Never," he replied, stroking her fingers.

Sara turned on her side, propping her head in her hands.

"I want to give you a going away present," she said.

"Sara," he said. "_You're _the one going away."

"I know."

She sat up suddenly, sitting with her legs crossed. She reached up behind her head and tugged free the elastic band keeping her messy hair out of her face. The tangled curls fell around her face. Michael smiled. She leaned down to kiss him, taking his hands in hers and sliding them up her shirt. Michael made a gurgling noise against her lips.

"—Ara—"

She kissed him again, and took the hem of her t-shirt in her hands before lifting the fabric up and over her head.

"What are you doing?"

She had no idea. But she did know that she loved Michael, probably more than anyone she ever knew, with the exception of Bill and Marjorie. So unlike that night in the woods with Jeremy three years ago, she knew what she was doing was totally and completely her choice. She leaned in to Michael's ear.

"I want to give you something to remember me by."

They had been… experimenting… all summer. And they'd talked, a little, about the option of, well, _having sex_. They'd been through sophomore health class. They'd seen the movies. They knew it happened. And Sara wanted it to happen with Michael.

They undressed themselves slowly, and though it was admittedly kinda awkward, Sara felt more excited than nervous. When Michael's hands made contact with her skin, she positively shuddered.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," she giggled into his ear.

"And you think I do?" Michael laughed back. "Sara… you're my first… everything. My first girlfriend, my first kiss…"

She looked into his eyes and found kindness and tenderness there. She thought back again to that night in the woods when Jeremy had… attacked her. She decided in an instant that his rough, intruding lips against hers didn't count. Michael was her first everything too.

"You too, Michael," she said. "You too."

And without realizing how it happened, they started making love. It didn't really hurt as much as Sara thought it might, it hurt a _little_, but mostly, it felt good. She had no idea how much he could… fill her up… in every sense of the word. Whatever words she was murmuring were not _any _of the ones that got her into Harvard. Eventually, she just kept saying his name again and again, and she felt her muscles tightening uncontrollably. And all of a sudden, he was pulling away from her.

"Shit, Sara," he whispered. "We didn't use… anything. I wasn't exactly expecting this to happen."

She froze. She hadn't really thought that far ahead either.

"It's okay," he said, kissing her forehead. "I think I stopped before… you know…"

"Promise me we'll be okay."

"We'll be okay. I know it."

* * *

><p>She had a lot of ideas about what Harvard would be like.<p>

The actual thing, exceeded her every expectation.

From day one, or rather, from day three, when Bill pulled away from her dorm with an empty car and tears in his eyes, she had an instant feeling of belonging. She finally felt she was where she was supposed to be. The brick buildings, the beautiful architecture, the rolling lawns, the students carrying books and intelligent conversations despite the semester not even beginning yet… all of it, made Sara walk around with a smile on her face.

That wasn't to say that she didn't miss Bill, and Michael. The first thing she did when she finished unpacking her dorm room was call Michael. He had two weeks until he started at California Art Institute. He wished her good luck on her first day of class, and told her he loved her.

For a good while, she thought she wasn't going to have a roommate. Two days before classes were supposed to start, the lofted bed on the other side of the room, the second desk and extra closet were still empty. Sara had just come back from the bookstore, sweaty and exhausted from lugging a pile of books up four flights of stairs, when she heard her door click and a girl with dark red hair and skin paler than Sara's walked through.

"You must be…" the girl said, digging a piece of paper out of her pocket and looking at it. "Sara."

"Yeah."

The girl dropped her backpack, duffel bag and purse to the floor.

"Megan," she said, offering her hand. "Psych major."

"Oh, uh, physics major," Sara supplied.

"Oh, thank God," Megan said.

Sara stared at her. Was there some sort of hierarchy of areas of concentration she wasn't aware of?

Megan laughed.

"I suck at science," she said. "But I'm awesome at baking. I promise to make you all the cookies you could ever possibly need if you help me with my science classes."

Sara laughed.

"Sure."

Megan wasn't Sara's polar opposite – she was a hard worker, sometimes had a big mouth and she was absolutely dedicated to her schoolwork. Sara had never met anyone who could match her in hours spent in the library. But they weren't identical either, Megan was from the Boston area and with two wealthy parents and an older sister who had dropped out of high school at fifteen, a lot of money was poured into her education. She went to the best private school in Massachusetts, and was accepted to Harvard with a few of her friends. So she knew a few people, who knew a few more people, and through Megan, Sara met all of them.

She met guys who were finally able to hold an intellectual conversation with her about the theories of physics, she met girls who'd rather stay up late discussing their favorite poetry in the coffee shop than drink a kegger at the fraternity house a few blocks over. She met a guy from Michigan who'd climbed the Alps, another guy from Texas whose father was in NASA and a girl from Iowa who'd spent two years studying abroad in China. These people fascinated her, and better yet, they were fascinated with her, too. And it was because of her mind and her imagination, and not because she was tall and thin or because they knew she was in the system and felt bad for her.

It was a breath of fresh air.

She joined the karate club because a girl from Arizona who had a black belt told her it was something everyone should try. She took up smoking, because somehow, a conversation about Thoreau was much more stimulating in a smoky atmosphere. She experienced a real fall, when the colors on the trees changed and became crunchy when they fell to the ground. In November, she experienced her very first snowfall and was decidedly sure that there was nothing more beautiful than Boston in the winter.

She loved it there, and she excelled there. There was always something more to learn, something else to read and more to discover. Her professors loved her, and for the first time in her life, she had more than one friend at any given time.

She went home for Christmas break, and it felt good to hug Bill again. He said the house was lonely without her, and for a moment, she felt guilty for enjoying herself so much when he was alone in an empty house. But when he hugged her at the airport before her flight back to Boston, and told her that he loved her and that Marjorie would be so proud of her, she again knew she was where she was supposed to be.

She had hoped to see Michael when she was home for the holidays, but his family had left to spend Christmas with relatives in Atlanta three days before she got to town, and they wouldn't return until long after she was back in Boston. Michael was the only source of sadness in her life. They wrote letters, and spoke on the phone often. Michael sent her copies of all of his work. But she could feel them drifting apart, and it had less to do with the miles between them, and more to the fact that they were both very different people than they had been six months before. Still, she cared about him, and she didn't have one regret when it came to the night before she left San Francisco.

And before she knew it, finals were upon her. She and Megan nearly tripled the amount of hours they spent in the library, although they quickly learned that their long nights were much more enjoyable with various junk foods and lots and lots of coffee.

"Sara," Megan whispered over an enormous basket of greasy fries from the student center. "That guy by the computers can't stop staring at you."

Sara dunked her fry in a cup of nacho cheese and rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, right."

"You know, you're really lucky I like you, cause otherwise I'd hate you on principal," Megan said. "I usually _hate _girls like you."

"What did California ever do to you?"

"Girls who are hot and refuse to acknowledge it," Megan clarified.

Sara snorted into her Diet Coke.

"_Seriously_," Megan said kicking her under the table. "If you are not at their table in three seconds I'm _going _to disown you!"

"Megan, I'm not here to find a testosterone-driven boyfriend," she said. "My Classic Literature exam is tomorrow, and unless that guy can rattle off postulates for every one of the Greek tragedies, I'm not interested."

"Actually, I can."

Sara turned, armed and ready, but when her mouth opened, not a sound came out. The chocolate brown eyes and chiseled face that greeted her apparently stole her voice.

"Kevin Forrester," he said. "English major. First exams?"

Sara cleared her throat.

"How could you tell?"

"I passed the library on the way to my advisor appointment this morning, and you were in this very same chair," he grinned.

"You make a habit out of stalking girls at the library?"

"I do when they have eyes like yours."

She was pretty sure she heard Megan coo from across the table. Sara cleared her throat again.

"Well… I… first exams," she stammered. "You can understand if we're a little overwhelmed."

"So… you got all those Greek tragedy postulates down?"

"Yep," Sara said quickly. "That… one. And then there's the other one."

Kevin grinned. She'd never seen teeth that white.

"Well, lucky for you, my first exam isn't until Wednesday," he said. "I'm volunteering my services."

The first two hours after Kevin joined their table, Megan stared at them with a goofily wide smile on her face. After three hours, she called it a night and left Sara and Kevin with the smattering of other people who were either brave or desperate enough to see three in the morning.

When she felt the coffee starting to wear off, Sara told him she was ready to call it a night, and thanked him.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

Sara's elbow did a strange, involuntary jerk, and her literature book slid off the table. Kevin immediately bent to retrieve it.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "That sounded really blunt. I'm usually not this… obnoxious. I just… I like you."

Sara smiled slowly.

"You, uh, you've known me for… about four hours."

"What can I say, I'm a man with good taste," Kevin winked. "So? Do you? Have a boyfriend, I mean? Because if you don't, I… I'd really like to take you to dinner."

Sara pressed her eyes closed briefly. She hadn't spoken to Michael since spring break, when he'd chosen to visit an art exhibition in LA than come home.

"It's… complicated."

"You know, complicated isn't always a bad thing," Kevin reasoned. "Maybe I can help… just like literature postulates?"

Sara smiled. He was persistent; she'd give him that. And there was no denying he was good looking.

"Tell you what," she said. "If we meet again and things are… uncomplicated… I'll take you up on that."

"Well, can I have your number?"

Sara winked at him.

"Nope."

"But… how am I going to meet you again? There are thousands of kids at Harvard, Sara."

She puckered her lips into a smirk and gestured to her literature books.

"We'll let the Gods decide."


	16. Chapter 16

There was nothing like the feeling of handing in your last final, and knowing you were free and clear of homework and term papers and study guides for the next three months.

When Sara handed in her last final, bio-chem, she breathed a huge sigh of relief. Her professor smiled at her.

"You look happy."

"Are you kidding?" she replied. "I have nothing more to worry about… at least until grades come in."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"Thanks," Sara grinned. "Have a great summer."

"Hey, Sara?"

She turned, realizing she was the last one left in the room. She must have taken longer to double-check her answers than she realized.

"I've been meaning to ask you something for weeks, but I didn't want to mention it in front of the other students," her professor said. "Every summer, we have an honors undergraduate research program. Usually, it's only offered to juniors and seniors, because you have to have a pretty outstanding academic record and strong professor recommendation that usually takes years to establish. But… I recommended you, and they'd like you to participate."

"Wow… I don't know what to say."

"I was very impressed with you in class this semester, Sara," he said. "I think you'd be a great asset to the program. Obviously, there are things you'd need to see if you could arrange, like a place to stay until the dorms re-open in the fall. That's usually not a problem for the upperclassmen who have off-campus apartments."

"Oh," Sara said, her spirits falling. She'd been working part-time at the coffee shop – she spent so much of her time there anyway – but there was no way she'd saved up enough to rent an apartment by herself for three months.

"I don't know what your financial status is," he continued. "But there are a lot of assistance programs available at Harvard. Take a look into them, and see what you can do. Like I said, I think the program will benefit from having you. And it would be great experience for you, as well."

"Thank you so much," Sara said sincerely. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this opportunity."

She practically skipped back to her dorm. Megan had her last final that morning, and had spent the afternoon re-collecting the clothes that had scattered themselves across the small dorm. When Sara walked through the door, she barely recognized the place, it was so clean. She told Megan everything in one hurried breath.

"Sara, that's amazing!" Megan said when she finished. "I wish my professors liked me half as much as yours like you!"

"Yeah, well, not like it'll do me any good," she said.

"What are you talking about?"

"The dorms are closed for the summer," Sara said gloomily. "There's no way I earned enough tip money for an apartment for the summer."

"So stay with me."

"What?"

"Stay with me," Megan repeated. "My parent's house is only 20 minutes outside Boston."

"I… thank you," Sara said, surprised. "But… I don't have car, Meg. Thanks, anyways."

"Sara, we have five cars and three drivers," she laughed. "Stay with me, and take one of ours."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," Megan breezed. "My parents love you."

"I've never met your parents."

"Well, let's just say I've only told them the good stories," Megan winked.

"Meg… I don't what to say."

"Hey, it's the least I can do," she said. "You practically did my science homework for the entire year. But just know, I consider us even now."

"Deal."

She hugged her roommate.

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>The worst part of accepting the position in the research program was calling Bill and telling him she wouldn't be home for the summer. She knew he was really looking forward to having her back. She had been looking forward to it too, she missed him. He was gracious, of course, and excited for her. He told her it was a wonderful opportunity that would look great for her future job endeavors, and something she couldn't pass up.<p>

It didn't make her feel any better.

Megan's house was enormous, and her parents were just as modest and unassuming as Megan. Up until the night before the program started, her guilt over not going home for the summer was the only thing that was keeping the summer from being just as enjoyable as the school year.

That changed with one phone call.

Megan's parents were out at a benefit dinner, and Megan had ordered pizza for the two of them. They had just opened the box when the phone rang.

"Phrello?" Megan answered with a mouth full of cheese. Sara giggled. Megan furrowed her brow and swallowed before looking at her. "It's for you."

"Is it Bill?" Sara asked anxiously. "Is everything okay?"

"It doesn't sound like him," Megan shrugged. "But it _is_ a _boy_."

Sara rolled her eyes and set down her slice, taking the phone from Megan.

"Hello?"

"Sara?"

"M-Michael?" Sara asked in shock. "How in the world did you know I was here?"

"I went by your house yesterday, and Bill said you were staying in Boston for the summer," he said. "When were you going to let me know?"

"I'm sorry… I-I forgot," she said truthfully. She hadn't written – or received – a letter in weeks.

Silence settled over the phone, and Sara avoided Megan's eyes and waving arms as she mouthed, "_who is it?_"

"Look, Sara, I… I really didn't want to do this over the phone, but it doesn't look like I'm going to have any choice," he said. "I… I've been seeing someone."

His words hit her like a load of bricks. No matter the fact they hadn't spoken since forever, no matter the fact they were really no longer boyfriend and girlfriend, she still cared about him, and believed he cared for her. She hadn't seen this coming.

"Since when?"

"Since my trip to LA," he said. "I… I met a girl there. She's an artist. She taught me how to paint watercolors, Sara. You know how much I wanted to learn to do that."

Her mouth felt full of glue. She could only blink.

"I'm… I'm transferring to the Art Center College of Design," he continued. "I'm so sorry, Sara. I really did want to tell you this in person."

"I understand," she whispered.

"I'm really sorry…"

"It's okay," she rushed. "I… I have to go."

"Sara, we can talk about this," he said. "I didn't want to hurt you…"

"It's okay," she repeated robotically. "You didn't, I'm fine. I just… I just have to go. Take care, okay?"

She hung up the phone before he could get in another word. She turned to Megan with tears in her eyes, and her friend immediately jumped to her feet and pulled her into a hug.

"Forget the pizza," she said. "Ice cream it is."

* * *

><p>After a fantastically stereotypical girly night involving a lot of ice cream and I-hate-men-they're-stupid, Sara swore she was fine and over Michael. Of course, that was a huge lie to make Megan stop looking at her with puppy-dog sympathy eyes. She was in no way over losing Michael, and she didn't know if she ever would be. He held her first everything in his hands, and if she were to be honest with herself, he probably still held her heart.<p>

It was funny that she didn't notice that until he was really gone.

But it was her first day in the summer honors undergraduate program, and she was determined to keep boys far, far from her mind.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans for her.

"Well, if it isn't Miss Its-so-complicated."

Without realizing it, she had slid into the open seat next to no other than Kevin Forrester.

"Hi," she sighed.

"I guess the Gods decided to be kind to me," he said.

"I thought you were an English major," she said. "What are you doing working on a science research project?"

"I guess I forgot to mention I'm a double major," he replied. "Engineering."

Sara paused.

"Impressed?" he asked. "I guess that makes both of us. I thought you were a freshman."

"I am," she said simply.

"Okay," he said, nodding. "Officially intimidated."

She gave him a small smile. Half of her didn't want anything to do with the male race at that moment, but the other half couldn't help but find him just a little charming.

"So… how _is_ that complicated situation of yours?" he asked. "Decrease in complexity?"

"Increase," she corrected.

"Does… the complication have a name?"

She sighed.

"Michael."

"Ah," Kevin said, nodding. "And… do I have the right to call him an asshole yet?"

"We broke up yesterday."

"That _asshole_."

Sara laughed.

"Yeah, well," she said. "At least now you know the reason behind my sarcasm and bitterness."

For a moment, a silence settled between them, and Sara almost thought he was going to let her be.

"Do you like music?" he asked.

So much for that.

"Yes," she said dully. "Who doesn't?"

"Noted," Kevin nodded. "There's a concert downtown tonight… do you want to go? It'll get your mind off Mr. Complicated."

"What kind of concert?"

"A fun one," he teased. "They're really strict about underage drinking, but they'll let you in if you're over eighteen."

Sara pressed her eyes closed.

"What?" he asked. "I didn't really peg you as a have-to-have-alcohol-to-have-fun kind of girl."

"It's not that," she said, shaking her head. "I'm… only seventeen."

"Do you always scare off potential suitors with your overwhelming impressiveness?" he joked. "Did you skip a grade?"

"When I was nine," she affirmed. "I had a good teacher and supportive fos—parents."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not going to take no for an answer," he said. "You're _far_ too interesting for me to not have dinner with you."

The graduate students and supervising professor walked in moments later, but when they concluded for the day, Sara found herself walking with Kevin to an off campus Chinese place. And then, she found herself having a pretty great time. Forget time healing all wounds – she needed a distraction. And found a funny, charming one in Kevin.

After Megan got over her four seconds of wanting to kill her for going off their abstinence of boys pledge, she begged Sara for every detail of their date.

"It wasn't a date," she argued.

"Did he pay?"

"…Yes."

"Did he try to kiss you?"

"He… succeeded."

Megan squealed and launched into a new tirade of questions. Sara smiled and patiently answered every one of them to her satisfaction. Yes, he was a good kisser. Yes, they were going out again. Yes, she admitted he was pretty hot.

When she lay in bed that night, she wondered what he saw in her. But he had turned a pretty crappy day into a pretty great night, and she could only thank him for that.


	17. Chapter 17

There weren't many days that summer that Sara didn't see Kevin. They didn't work on the research project much – their skill sets were pretty different, and they were assigned to different parts of the project. But if he finished early, he'd wait around for hours just so he could drive her to dinner and back to Megan's, or back to his apartment.

They moved a lot faster than she and Michael had. Heck, he had kissed her on their first date. But she felt comfortable at his hands, and he always assured her to tell him if she wasn't comfortable with something.

By the end of the summer, they'd done pretty much everything but sleep together. Sara wanted to, and she knew he did too. But she always sensed something was holding him back.

After a particularly steamy session of fooling around, she climbed onto him and rested her head on his chest.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said unconvincingly.

"Come on," she prodded. "You can do better than that."

"I just… I just kinda feel uncomfortable, knowing your seventeen," he said. "I feel like I'm… taking advantage of you."

"I'm not a kid," she argued.

"Oh, Sara, I know," he said. "It's just a… mental thing, I guess."

Sara kissed him. She actually appreciated his honesty, and his concern. Even at Harvard, twenty-something boys were still twenty-something boys, and not many of them would stop and think about her well being before jumping her bones.

Honestly, that made her want him more, but they waited until her eighteenth birthday.

She received a huge package from Bill that morning with a few small gifts, her favorite of which was a beautiful frame with a picture of the two of them and Marjorie from their camping trip. She put it next to her bed.

Megan bought her a sweater she'd been eyeing the weekend before. It was black and fit her perfectly, but she had ultimately decided against it. She was saving her money for a car. She wore it when they met Kevin at Sara's favorite Italian restaurant after class. When they parted – Kevin picked up the bill for all three of them – Megan winked, hugged her, and told her to be careful.

Sara felt herself flush down to her bellybutton.

She felt like a giddy sixteen-year-old again, full to the brim with nervous excitement. When they got to Kevin's apartment, she found the place decked out with candles. She wasn't a sappy romantic, but she had to admit, the living room flickering with dim light made for a pretty sexy atmosphere.

Kevin slipped a hand into her hair.

"Happy birthday, Sara," he murmured.

It didn't take them very long to stumble their way to his bedroom. His roommate was out, and they had all night, but Kevin was either not much into foreplay, or he was too anxious, because it didn't take them very long to become naked and pressing with need.

But he obviously knew what he was doing. He was very different from Michael, his hands were strong and sure, and he was confident, even without a stitch of clothing on him. He touched her in spots she didn't even know were erotic until his hands were there.

He felt different than Michael. He was taller, firmer, but he made her feel not only beautiful, but sexy, which was something she'd never experienced. And by the time he pushed into her, after double-checking their protection, she had completely forgotten about Michael. All she felt, all she knew, was Kevin and how the things he was doing felt so incredibly good.

She would have felt insecure, inexperienced, at his hands, but he made her feel so comfortable. And suddenly, she was filled with confidence too, trying things she thought she'd never have the courage to do. She was pretty sure sex didn't get any better than this.

The day after her eighteenth birthday, she bought herself a present – a tattoo. She'd always wanted one, not a trashy one on her lower back or a clichéd Chinese symbol, but something meaningful and beautiful that she chose herself. Megan went with her to the parlor, but she warned her ahead of time there was no way she'd be getting one too, so forget any thought of a bonding experience. She even refused to watch when the tattoo was inked onto the top of her foot. It hurt like hell, but she had to admit, she loved how it turned out. It was kind of a cross between a sun and a flower, and while she didn't really pick it for any specific reason, it somehow made her think of radiating strength.

When Kevin saw it, he got incredibly turned on.

She had to admit, she wasn't as fully focused on her sophomore year academics than she had freshman year when she constantly had Kevin on her mind. Her grades were still outstanding, but for once in her life, she had something she considered as important or maybe even more important, than her classes.

She was in college after all. It was acceptable to have a raging libido, right?

Kevin turned twenty-one on New Year's Eve, so Sara went back to California for Christmas, but she was back in Boston by the 27th. Bill had joined a few clubs for seniors and taken up tennis, so she didn't feel as guilty leaving him. Plus, all he could tell her that seeing her happy made him happy.

Sara gave him a private party the day before his birthday, and on New Year's, they rang in 1989 at an apartment of one of Megan's friends. She kissed him at midnight, then turned and hugged Megan. Two of the people she loved the most. Not ten minutes later, she spotted Megan in the corner getting pretty friendly with Kevin's roommate Josh. She could only grin, and hope that Megan would be as happy as she was. She deserved it.

In February, Megan, Josh, Kevin and Sara went on a double date for Valentine's Day. They made it very non-traditional, ordering Chinese and watching Star Wars. Sara hated every principle behind Valentine's, but she had to admit, it was nice to spend it with someone again. The four of them double dated the rest of the semester, and formed a surprisingly effectual study group come finals time.

In May, despite strings of guilt tugging at her heart, she called and told Bill she'd be staying in Boston for the summer again. She told him she made good money at the coffee shop, and she couldn't afford to be out of work for three months, especially when she'd be moving out of the dorms next year, and would have to match Megan's half of the rent for the apartment they'd found.

And all that was true. But if she were being completely honest with herself, Kevin had a lot to do with it.

He was going to be starting his senior year in the fall, and she didn't want to lose one moment with him.

* * *

><p>And just like that, Sara was in her junior year at Harvard. More than ever before, her professors were stressing internships and building resumes and networking and starting the long road towards a job or other post-college plans. She was overwhelmed. She loved her major, and was perfectly happy to be graduating in a year and a half with a degree in physics, but that didn't mean she had any idea what she wanted to do with it.<p>

She wasn't alone, Megan was just as confused, but Sara felt like she hardly saw her any more. She and Josh were getting serious, and they were always together. Kevin was in his senior year, and busy with interview prep and resume classes and senior research projects. For the first time since she arrived at Harvard, she actually started to feel a little lonely, and began looking forward to going back to California for Christmas.

The night before she left, she and Kevin saw a movie, and then went back to his place. Megan and Josh were out, and the moment Sara looked at him, she knew they were thinking the same thing. He positively ripped off her jeans and sweater, and she couldn't tell if the goose bumps that popped up over her skin were from her lack of clothing or his touch. He drove her absolutely crazy during sex, taunting and teasing her until she was about to break. He teased her, luring her in, until she was addicted, leaving her begging and pleading for more. Begging and pleading was something she did not do often.

And she'd never admit it to him, but she'd learned a lot from him. They'd never had that token awkward discussion, but she was absolutely sure that he'd had more sexual partners than she. That much was obvious from their first time together. But he never once mentioned it, and sometimes went as far as describing something to her before they did it. He made her… worldly.

So when she collapsed on his chest, exhausted, she felt just as satisfied as she always did. They enjoyed the afterglow together, and he was just reaching out to tousle her hair when the heard the click of the front door lock. Megan and Josh.

They'd left their door wide open. In a scramble, they pulled their clothing from wherever they could find it – Sara's bra from underneath the pillow, Kevin's shirt tossed on the lamp. She tugged her tank top down over her head.

"Uh, underwear anywhere?" she asked, rummaging through the sheets.

Kevin zipped his jeans and reached under his bed.

"Here."

She bent down to step through them and froze.

"As much as I'm enjoying the view, you better hurry," Kevin teased.

"These aren't mine."

"What?"

She kicked the panties off her ankles, and pulled on her jeans, sans underwear. She rolled up the panties and tossed it to him.

"These _aren't mine_," she repeated.

"I… oh," Kevin said, panicking briefly before he calmed himself. "They must be my sister's."

He tossed the panties with unconvincing disgust, for effect.

"She stayed here a week last summer."

"You're kidding me."

"What?" he asked, unconcerned.

"That's what you're giving me?" she scoffed, despite her hurt. "They're your _sister's_?"

"Sara…"

She held up a hand, stopping him.

"You're pathetic."

And with that, her panties still lying unfound in some corner of his room, she strode away. She walked right past Megan and Josh making out on the couch and out the apartment building. She walked the four blocks to her and Megan's apartment – the one they had chosen because it was _so_ wonderfully close to their _oh _so wonderful boyfriends – and into her room.

She let herself cry for five minutes.

She could have gone for more, but she wasn't going to let him have the satisfaction, whether he was aware of it or not. After five minutes, she rubbed her eyes with her sleeve, dug out her science book, and got to work.

She wasn't going to waste any more time on guys.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: **I passed my record number of reviews last chapter! Thank you, thank you!

* * *

><p>Sara spent Christmas break in California with Bill, trying to figure out what she was going to do with the rest of her life. By the end of January, she still had absolutely no idea.<p>

She got to her first class, statistical thermodynamics, fifteen minutes early and waited for the seats around her to be filled.

"I trust you've all completed the pre-term assignments," her professor said as a way of introduction. "Pass those forward."

There was a shuffling of papers around the room.

"Know that this is a core course to obtain a degree in physics," the professor continued. "That means you _must_ pass this course, and rest assured, _I_ will not be making that happen. You will. Should you be concerned about your success in this course, know that there is an extra credit opportunity you can take advantage of in advance."

He distributed papers to each of the rows.

"An eight-week forensic seminar taught by a forensic pathologist out of LA," he explained. "The course starts tomorrow night, so unfortunately, you will have no way of knowing whether or not you need the extra credit quite yet. You should know that a passing grade in this course will not be handed to you on a silver platter. Keep that in mind."

Sara stared at the flyer. By the end of the class, she had decided to go. She wasn't particularly worried about her grade, but her friend from one of her study groups was, and really, did she _ever_ pass up the opportunity for extra credit?

So the following night, Sara sat next to her friend in the auditorium, a fresh notebook lying open-faced on her lap. The forensic pathologist was at the front of the room, setting up the overhead.

"He looks normal so far," her friend Ashley leaned over and whispered.

"What are you talking about?"

"He's a _pathologist_," she said in her 'duh' voice. "He spends his life with dead people. Only weird, creepy people do that."

Sara shrugged.

"I don't know," she mused. "It's kind of an admirable profession."

"Please tell me you're kidding."

"Think about it, if someone is murdered, and they don't know who did it, this guy is largely responsible for helping find the culprit," she replied. "He catches people who might have otherwise gone free… he gives families peace of mind."

Ashley stared at her.

"I still think it's creepy."

The pathologist began his lecture, and ten minutes in, photos of bodies at crime scenes and in the morgue were on the overhead. Ashley spent most of it with her fingers over her eyes.

"This is so gross!"

But Sara was fascinated. Every day of this man's workweek was like a murder mystery. He was brilliant and intuitive and methodical.

By the end of the hour, she was hooked.

She spent the weekend holed up in the library, reading every book on forensics she could find. What a wonderfully intriguing career. Challenging, exciting, dangerous and noble all at once. Why had she never considered it before?

She was engrossed, and the only time she left her corner of the library was when Megan practically begged her to come to Josh's twenty-first birthday. As juniors, most of her friends were hitting the big 2-1, and Josh was planning on having quite a crowd come out to the bars. Sara, of course, was only a few months past nineteen, but Megan, who was a few weeks from being legal herself, promised they'd still have fun.

"It's not that," Sara argued. "I just don't wanna…"

"Run into Kevin?" Megan cut in, guessing correctly. "Don't worry, he won't be there. I told Josh not to invite him."

"Meg," Sara said plainly. "They're best friends."

"But _I'm _his girlfriend, who can restrict certain enjoyable activities if he doesn't comply," she winked. "Trust me. He won't be there."

And he wasn't. But as she watched Josh down shot after shot, she was still wishing she was at the library instead, alone with her forensics books. Megan was too busy making sure no girl but her was buying Josh's drinks, and everyone else she knew was nauseatingly drunk.

"You look like you're having a shitty time."

She looked up at a mildly drunk, semi attractive guy with dark features. She just smiled at him tiredly. He nodded at her cup.

"Straight vodka?" he guessed.

"Water," she said dully.

"Interesting choice," he smirked. "Can I buy you something stronger?"

"Thanks, but, underage," she said, holding up her wrist. The overage patrons of the bar each had neon green wristbands.

"Well, good, that gives me a reason to see you again," he said slickly. "When do you turn twenty-one?"

"September," she sighed. "Of next year."

"And here I was under the impression sophomores still think frat parties are cool," he said. "What, ahead of your age?"

"Must be," she sighed again. She wasn't in the mood for chitchat. "I'm a junior."

"Beauty and brains," he grinned. "Does that pretty face have a name?"

Was this sort of sloppy flirting attractive when you drink? Because she only found it annoying.

"Sara."

"Connor," he offered. "And this isn't water."

"I figured as much."

The music in the bar was loud, and Connor had to lean close to her ear as they spoke. His breath smelled terribly of cheap beer.

"So what's a young thing like you out at the bar scene for?" he half-yelled. Sara tilted her head back a little. "You checkin' out the older men?"

"Hardly."

Connor leaned back in.

"Well maybe you haven't met the right one yet."

He reached out to stroke her arm. She wanted to twist away, but she stayed polite.

"I'm not really looking," she said. "But thanks."

She spun on her stool a little, sipping her water and concentrating on the crowd gathered around Josh, who was chugging a beer. She hoped he'd get the hint. No such luck.

"Well, y'know," he began, starting to slur his words a little. "Sometimes you find the best things when you're not lookin'."

He stumbled forward a little, and planted a very unexpected, very unpleasant kiss right on her mouth. She pulled away and stood from her stool.

"I said no."

"Aw, baby, don't be like that," he said, putting a hand on her waist. "What can I say, I'm a cradle robber."

He leaned in to try to kiss her again. She was able to dodge his lips, but wasn't so fortunate when it came to the hand that landed on her breast. She put a firm hand on his shoulder and pushed him away.

"Get _off _me."

His drunkenness and the crowded bar worked to her favor, and she was able to slink through the crowd and out the door. She didn't tell Megan she was leaving, but she didn't think she'd care, or even notice. Maybe she was just crazy, but smelly, smoky, dirty, crowded, loud bars were just not appealing to her.

She walked around the groups gathered along the sidewalks for the next few blocks and walked right back into the library.

* * *

><p>The next week, her body was in organic chemistry, but her mind was already at that night's lecture, and what they might be covering. She'd prepared a list of questions, and she was almost bursting at the seams to ask them.<p>

"You look like a kid on Christmas."

She glanced up, surprised. The hazel eyes of her TA looked down at her. She felt a surprising twist in her stomach.

"You know, anxious."

"Oh," Sara said, still mildly caught off-guard. "Yeah. I guess. I've got… some lecture tonight."

Ken took the empty seat next to her.

"You show up this early to all your classes?" he asked. She looked around, realizing they were the only two in the room.

"Most of the time," she said, returning her eyes to her notes.

"So what's this exciting lecture?"

"Oh – um, it's an extra credit seminar for statistical thermo," she said.

"Oh yeah, you're a physics major, right?"

She blinked, wondering how he knew that. They'd hardly spoken, especially on non-class related matters.

"Uh huh."

"I think my roommate's in that class too, Brian Williams?"

That still didn't explain how he knew her major.

"Oh, yeah, I know him."

He was a huge ass, with an ego to match, but she didn't say that.

"Yeah, he's not taking the seminar, but then again, he's not as ambitious as you."

She blinked at him. It was the same smooth talk that came out of every other male's mouth, and as much as she wanted to bite back with stinging sarcasm, the twist in her stomach made her think differently. Still, she had sworn to herself that priority number one was her academics. She wasn't going to let anything, no matter how painfully attractive that thing may be, distract her. And moreover, she wasn't going to let herself get hurt one more time.

"So… Sara… d'you ever… like to go out anywhere? To eat, or… to the movies?"

"Would asking me out compromise your duties as a TA?" she teased, pursing her lips.

"I'm capable of remaining objective," he said back without hesitation. "That's the duty of scientist, is it not?"

"It is," she said, finding herself smiling. He was making this so much harder. "But… I've kinda… sworn off social engagements for the moment. Concentrate on school."

He looked momentarily disappointed, but smiled at her.

"Well, I admire your ambition," he said. "Maybe some other time."

"Yeah. Maybe."

* * *

><p>Organic chem quickly became both her favorite and least favorite class. She and Ken were painfully attracted to each other. A much stronger woman could have melted under that gaze, but somehow, Sara stuck to her guns and refused each of his advances and smoldering looks. It was incredibly frustrating and satisfying all at the same time.<p>

Finally, for the first summer since she left for Harvard, she was able to spend the break back in California with Bill. It was refreshing to be back at home, and they spent the hot, humid months doing the activities they used to do with Marjorie. It made Sara miss her so much it hurt sometimes, but also made her grateful she made the decision to come back home. September came so quickly, she was almost reluctant to board the plane back to Boston.

The first semester of her senior year passed rather uneventfully.

Megan and Josh were now inseparable, which meant Kevin and Sara ran into each other on a few occasions for that token awkward post-breakup small talk.

She was on par to graduate at the top of her class, but she was still lost when it came to what to do afterward. It was actually Bill who suggested graduate school.

"You're so smart, honey," he said. "The sky is the limit for you… I think graduate school would be an incredible next step."

She initially dismissed the thought – she had her heart set on getting started in a job as soon as she could, even if she didn't knew what that job was – the more she really thought about it, the more the idea seemed to appeal to her. She'd be twenty years old when she graduated, and having a master's to her name at twenty-two would definitely impress potential employers. She asked her advisor, who recommended she pursue a master's degree in theoretical physics. He said the world of academia was wide open to her, with a degree like that in hand. And Bill… he was so enthusiastic over the idea. It was the first time she'd seen him that happy since losing Marjorie.

So the search began. She felt like she was applying to college all over again, but with no road map. Four years ago, she _knew_ Harvard was all she wanted. It was all she'd settle for. But now, she could choose whichever school, in whichever state she wanted.

It was also Bill who suggested she considered moving back to California. She told him she'd think about it, but inside she was thinking, _no way_. She had found herself in Boston, become someone she was proud of, in an environment she loved. She was afraid going back to California long-term would mean reverting to the insecurities and old nightmares that haunted her there.

But… she found herself not being able to _not _think about it. The idea of being nearer to Bill, who, despite his protests, was starting to slow down a little and fell ill more often, was a big factor. She missed the beach, and suddenly, the idea of being in a familiar environment was more comforting than daunting.

So she mailed her application to Berkeley.

And when she hugged Bill goodbye after the New Year, it was with the promise that she'd be back soon, and they would be able to spend more time together, in exchange for his promise to take care of himself.

In February, Megan suggested that they take a pre-graduation celebration trip to Florida for spring break. Sara was reluctant, the last thing she wanted was to spend a week around people whose main concerns were how tan they could get and how much tequila they could drink. Not to mention, Megan and Josh were still spending almost every waking minute together. Not Sara's idea of a good time.

But Megan promised it wouldn't be an out of control week of partying – and no boys were invited. Just a small group of their closest female friends. Didn't they deserve to relax, she asked? Besides, it would help keep Sara's mind off her graduate applications, at least for five days.

So against her better judgment, she agreed. After all, they'd be graduating soon, and so far, Megan's plans after school consisted of moving to wherever Josh was going. Better take advantage of the time they had together while they had it.

The night before they left, Megan was knee deep in the important decision of what bathing suit to bring – the one that showed off her back, or one that flaunted her boobs? Sara had been packed for hours – taken the most comfortable, lightest clothes she could find and thrown them into a duffle.

Megan had finally moved onto sundresses (the purple one that gave her hips, or the black one that went with everything?) when Sara's phone rang.

"Hello?"

"I-I'm looking for Sara Sidle?"

"This is she," Sara said distractedly while pointing at the black dress.

"Sara, this is Jonathan West, Bill and Marjorie's son."

Tears filled her eyes as he spoke. She felt her heart drop to her feet as fast as Megan's dress dropped to the floor.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** You guys are so patient! Either that, or you just love Sara enough to stick it out for some twenty chapters without the name Grissom even being mentioned!

Little shorter one this week, but I'll make up for it in more ways than one next chapter :)

* * *

><p>Jonathan said he'd explain more once she got to California, so she wouldn't worry. But all she did was worry.<p>

Megan offered to switch her flight and go to San Francisco with her the moment Sara hung up the phone. Sara told her not to be silly, that she'd been looking forward to the trip for weeks, and she'd already spent so much money on the flight and hotel and arrangements. When that did nothing to convince her, Sara told her this was something she needed to do by herself. Megan had nodded solemnly, hugged her, and took her to the airport.

Truthfully, Sara didn't know if it _was _something she needed to do herself, or whether, just once, she wanted someone there to pick up the pieces when she fell apart. She had lost so much family already, her mother, her father, her brother, Mark and Julia, Marjorie. She lost others she loved in Michael and Kevin. Bill had been there for her for six years. He was the only constant she could hold on to. She couldn't lose him.

She could not.

When she arrived at the hospital, Jonathan met her in the lobby. He asked how she was, and about school, but she couldn't stand not knowing a moment longer.

"It was heart failure," Jonathan explained. "He was able to call for help when he began feeling the symptoms, but they almost didn't make it here in time."

"How is he now?"

"They don't know," he said quietly. "Or at least, they won't tell me. All they say is that the next few hours are 'critical'."

"I don't understand," Sara whispered, feeling her body trembling. "He's so healthy… he and Marjorie."

"He's sixty-eight, Sara," he said. "The risk for something like this increases with age… and we have a history of heart problems in our family."

The elevator dinged from across the lobby and a blonde woman came out of it. She walked right up to Jonathan, and put a hand on his elbow.

"Jon… they want to talk to you."

"Sara, this is my wife Lily," he introduced quickly as the three of them made their way to the elevator. "What did they say?"

"Not much," she said. "I think he's awake, and talking. They won't say a word on his condition."

The elevator stopped on the fourth floor. Jonathan quickly found Bill's doctor, who offered to take him back to Bill's room.

"Sara?" Jonathan called back, motioning to her.

"I'm sorry, sir, it's just family," the doctor said.

"She is family."

As they neared Bill's room, she felt an all too familiar tightening of her throat and lungs, and a loud buzzing in her ear. Jonathan was talking quickly with the doctor – something about multiple heart attacks and the criticality of the next few hours. They paused outside his room.

"You go on, Sara," Jonathan said softly. "I have a few more questions. I'll be in in a minute."

Sara nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped into the room. Bill smiled weakly the moment he saw her.

"Sara," he said softly.

"Hey."

She took a hesitant seat by his bed, willing herself not to tear up.

"You should be… at school," he said weakly.

"Jonathan called me."

"He worries… too much."

Sara felt her lip tremble.

"You didn't keep your promise," she whispered.

He just looked at her. It seemed like he was fighting hard to keep his eyelids open.

"We are… so proud of you, honey," he said. "Marjorie and me. You are… the best thing to happen to our family."

Sara gave a choked sob and he squeezed her hand.

"Send… Jon in."

She hugged him and did just that, and later that night, Bill passed away in his sleep. And this time, there was no one to hold Sara's hand at the funeral.

* * *

><p>Jonathan said he'd do his best to be at Sara's graduation ceremony that May, but he had an unexpected business meeting and had to be in Texas. So she sat quietly through the ceremony, and took a few pictures with her friends afterwards, although she took none of her own. She had no family in the audience waiting to hug her and begging to see her diploma.<p>

She took her gown off, folding it over her arms and retreated back into the trees, sitting on one of her favorite benches. She had received her acceptance to Berkeley Graduate School two weeks ago. She hadn't told anybody. She had no idea what to do. She'd been accepted to a few others, and nothing was waiting for her in California.

She felt a few tears trickle down her cheek.

But… she had filled out and mailed the application for Bill, and even if he was no longer waiting for her there, if she went, maybe she'd continue to make him proud. So she made her decision right then and there. She was going.

A trampling in the bushes startled her. A few of the leaves bristled and Megan emerged, bright-face and grinning.

"There you are!" she exclaimed. "I've been looking for you everywhere – you'll _never _believe what just happened."

Sara cleared her throat and wiped at her eyes.

"What?"

Megan held up her left hand, where a tiny little diamond was glittering in the sunlight.

"Josh and I are getting married!" she trilled. "He just asked me!"

Sara gaped at her.

"You're kidding."

"Dead serious, sister," Megan said, holding her hand closer.

"Oh my… congratulations, Meg!"

She stood and hugged her friend, looked at her glittering little ring and listened as she recounted every moment leading up to when her boyfriend became her fiancé.

"Oh my God, I have to go, I have to find my parents – they don't even know yet – you were the first I told," Megan rushed. "Can you believe it? Oh my God… okay, I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Okay," Sara smiled. "Congrats, Meg, I'm really happy for you."

"Oh my God, I can't believe I forgot – will you be my maid of honor?"

"Seriously?

"Of course," Megan shrugged simply. "You're my best friend."

"Of course I will."

Megan squealed and rushed off. Three days later, they had packed up their apartment and went their separate ways, after many hugs and tears. Megan was moving to Connecticut with Josh, who was going to Yale to get his law degree. And Sara was moving back to the other side of the country, to get her Masters in theoretical physics.

She found a tiny studio apartment, barely big enough for one, but was close to campus. She spent most of the summer running or reading.

And when the fall term began, more than ever, Sara threw herself into her schoolwork. She found herself picking up some anti-social tendencies. She lived alone, the lack of group projects like she'd had as an undergraduate meant she did most of her studying by herself and she didn't go on one date during her first few months at Berkeley. She told her friends, or classmates, rather, that she just didn't have the time. Honestly, she was tired of broken promises and empty words and disappointments. When someone had the ability to render her speechless and stop her heart at the same time, she would be willing to consider that something might be more important than her career. Until then, she was all business.

She found that the best way to counter feeling lonely was to act as strong and confident she could. It was her defense mechanism.

And people seemed to believe it.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **So in my craze to be obsessively precise in the timeline of Sara's childhood, I realized that, in "Unfriendly Skies", when Sara tells Grissom she joined the mile high club in 1993 on a flight from Boston, she would have been 22 that year. If she went to Harvard at 16 and graduated the usual four years later, she wouldn't have been in Boston in 1993, she would have been in California. I don't know if that's my miscalculation or a slip up of the writers, but I tried to explain it in this chapter.

* * *

><p>As Sara moved into her second term at Berkeley, she had what could only be described as a quarter-life crisis. More than once, she ended up in tears on the phone with Megan.<p>

"I'd make a horrible teacher," she sniffed one night, hands wrapped around a rather large glass of wine. "And I don't _want_ to join a research team and study the string theory the rest of my life."

"Sara, you _love_ physics," Megan comforted. "You're good at it. I'm sure there are plenty of opportunities for you outside of academia."

But as May approached, and it came time to sign up for classes for the fall term, Sara became more and more convinced that there wasn't. The world of academics was not the place for her. She loved theoretical, philosophical, academic discussions, but the thought of being in that environment permanently… something was telling her she needed something more fulfilling. Something to keep her busy and satisfy her endless curiosity.

One windy, rainy night, as she forced herself to finish the paper due the next morning, she remembered the extra credit seminar on forensics that her friend Ashley had thought was "so gross". She remembered how intriguing and thrilling she found the world of forensics.

That was all the convincing she needed.

So the day after she turned in her last paper, she marched to her advisor's office and announced that she'd be suspending her quest for a master's degree. The seventy-something professor begged and pleaded for her to rethink, told her the academic world needed a mind like hers, but she only nodded politely and repeated that she'd made her decision.

The next morning, she woke up both excited and terrified. The academic track was a safe one, promising a stable job at probably a respected university, financial security and so on. But it also promised stale predictability. And predictable, Sara was not.

She looked up the number for the San Fransisco Medical Examiner's office. She wanted to work side-by-side with a forensic pathologist she could only hope was as inspiring as the one who had lectured at Harvard those few years ago. By the grace of God, or sheer dumb luck, they had a job opening for an assistant, and though she had really no applicable experience, she applied. She impressed the Chief Medical Examiner on her first interview, and was hired a week later.

She hadn't been so excited in… well, she couldn't remember.

Her first day, she got a tour of the morgue and met the swing shift coroner, a kind-eyed, graying at the temples, middle-aged man named Dr. Andrew Hawkins.

Her second day, she experienced her first autopsy. Dr. Hawkins warned her far in advance.

"You wouldn't be the first to get a little freaked at an autopsy," he told her kindly. "The smell, the processing… it can be a little much. If you need air, by all means, go get it. Okay, kiddo?"

Sara nodded politely, but swore to herself that she would be different. She was going to get her career at this lab started on a strong foot. She would impress everyone, and move up in the field quicker than anyone else. She was dead-set on it.

But the moment the body was wheeled in and uncovered, stab wounds from head to foot, she felt bile rising in her throat. She swallowed hard, breathing in and out, steadily, willing herself to ignore the stench and concentrate on Dr. Hawkins's steady hand. But the moment he cut into the corpse's chest, she was fighting a losing battle.

"Go!" he urged supportively. "Sara, it's okay – just go!"

She ran to the corner of the room and curled over the garbage can, puking up her dinner – and probably her lunch and breakfast too. She turned back around, her hands trembling and her face flushing. The other coroner's assistant was chuckling, but Dr. Hawkins smiled at her kindly.

"Go get some air," he said. "If you're not ready, we can try again tomorrow."

She went out the double-doors and pressed her back against the cold wall.

"Damnit," she swore under her breath, furious at herself for acting like the weak, helpless young girl everyone probably figured she was. She leaned her head back and swore again.

"First autopsy?"

The voice startled her, and she looked up to see the lead CSI on the case, a level two she had seen before, but never really talked to. He stuck out his gloved hand.

"Brady Ambrose," he said.

"Sara Sidle," she offered back. She put out her own latex-covered hand before pulling it away quickly. "Oh… you… probably shouldn't."

She looked away, embarrassed.

"If it makes you feel any better, it took me two weeks to go to an autopsy without feeling like puking," he said. "It's totally normal. You gotta… get used to it."

She sighed.

"I feel like an idiot."

Brady laughed.

"You're not," he assured. "It happens to everyone, no matter how much they may boast about their strong stomachs now."

Sara nodded appreciatively.

"So… are you new?"

"Second day," she smiled shyly. "I'm the new swing shift coroner's assistant."

"That's how I started out too," he replied. "You want to be a coroner?"

"I don't really know yet," she said honestly. "Two weeks ago, I said 'forget it' to a master's program and… now I'm here."

"Well, we'll probably be working together very soon," he said. "That's my body in there."

He glanced through the double-doors where Dr. Hawkins was mid-way through his examination.

"You think you're ready to go back in?" he asked.

She took a deep breath and smiled.

"I think so."

She was very proud to say she didn't puke again. She'd be lying if she claimed she never felt lightheaded at a particularly gruesome body, but she felt herself getting over the shock of being in such close proximity with bodies and becoming obsessed with being part of solving the cases. Forensics thrilled her like nothing else. Intrigued her, and made her feel accomplished. She decided that _this_ was what she needed to be doing, and if everything she'd been through got her to that point, well, then it was worth it.

Over the next year, Dr. Hawkins taught her everything he knew, and told her constantly how successful she'd be in the field. Brady became a friend, and he realized after working with her for a few months that she had a sharp eye and a sense of instinct that would be good in the field someday. Just after the New Year (welcome, 1993) he got Dr. Hawkins to agree to let her shadow him in the field on a slow day in the morgue. She never collected or processed anything, of course, but she was able to observe him and the other CSIs working in the field and using the science she loved so much to piece together puzzles that seemed unsolvable. The coroner's office had taught her a lot about forensic science, but there was even more to learn out there, and the idea of becoming a CSI one day was appealing to her.

Between the unofficial teachings of Dr. Hawkins and Brady, it was hard to concentrate on much else other than forensics, and Sara very infrequently looked for distraction. But one found her.

Megan's wedding was scheduled for May of 1993, so in February, they started talking ideas for her bachelorette party. Sara wanted to do something simple, probably in Connecticut, where Megan was living with Josh. But Megan wanted to go somewhere exciting.

"What about Miami?" she suggested. "We never did get to go with each other… and it'll be awesome for a bachelorette party."

Sara sighed. Her income wasn't exactly tremendous at the moment. But, if Miami was what Megan wanted, that was what Megan would get. She was the maid of honor after all, and lived to serve.

So that March, she found herself boarding a plane with Megan and four other of her girlfriends – one of Megan's childhood friends, two she knew from Harvard and one of her co-workers. They'd started the five-day extravaganza at Megan's house in Boston, where her parents had taken all of them out to the fanciest dinner Sara had ever been to.

And now she faced five days of beaches and cocktails and dancing and estrogen. And she _was _actually looking forward to it. She felt like she hadn't seen the sun in months, and her skin was starting to rival the pasty whiteness of a vampire's.

So Sara settled into her middle seat, kicking her backpack under the seat in front of her, tucking her book into the pocket of the seat, and hoping the kid behind her would stop kicking her seat at some point.

"Thank you," Megan said, leaning over. "For planning all of this. You're the best."

"No problem," Sara shrugged. "Now move, I have to pee before we take off."

She struggled over Megan's legs into the aisle. A few lingering passengers were still putting their carry-ons into the overhead bins, so she maneuvered her way around them to the back of the plane. Both bathrooms were locked, and the flight attendants were already telling passengers to prepare for takeoff, so she sighed and made her way back to her seat, burying her nose in her book as Megan slept beside her.

They had pretty rocky turbulence, so the pilot didn't turn off the seatbelt sign until a little over halfway through the trip. When he finally did, Sara sighed in relief and climbed over Megan's legs, heading right for the bathroom. She was on such a mission, she had little time to react when a man in the last row stepped into the aisle in front of her. She collided right into his chest.

"Oh—I'm so sorry—"

She looked up at the man as he looked down on her.

"You've got to be kidding me," he chuckled. "Sara Sidle?"

"Ken Fuller," she smiled.

They stared at each other in awe until they realized that they were still standing pressed body-to-body, Ken's hands on her shoulders. He dropped his arms quickly, and they each took a step backwards, but not before Sara felt the squirm in her stomach that she usually associated with looking into his hazel eyes.

"What, uh, what are you doing here?" she stammered, feeling her heart positively slamming against her chest. He was looking at her like he'd never been happier in his life.

"Going to Miami," he said slowly, grinning. "Same as you, I expect."

She glared at him a little. He laughed.

"I stayed at Harvard for my graduate degree," he said. "My brother and I are going to Miami for a week… what about you? I heard you went back to California, what are you doing on a flight from Boston to the sunshine state?"

"Megan," she said simply, gesturing to the row where her friend was slumped over in sleep. "It's her… bachelorette party. She wanted Miami."

"What are the odds?" Ken mused amusedly, shaking his head.

"Yeah," she said slowly, still staring at his eyes.

A silence settled over them, each unsure of what to say next. Sara almost wanted to tell him where she was staying, to see him while they were both in Miami, but… she had promised Megan the token bachelorette extravaganza, and that usually did not include men, unless they were giving lap dances or slowly removing pieces of clothing.

"I should—"

"We should—"

They stammered at the same time and laughed nervously. A flight attendant approached them and smiled politely.

"Excuse me," she said. "The seatbelt sign is still off, but I must ask you to keep the aisles clear."

"Of course," Ken said. "Sorry."

"I was just, uh… heading to the bathroom," Sara told him as the attendant walked away.

"Me too," he replied. "But, you first."

"Thanks."

He stepped aside, and she squeezed past him, her breasts brushing against his chest as she did. She felt her face flush, and she suddenly became aware of how very hot it was.

She went into the unoccupied lavatory and locked the door behind her. She pressed her palms against the tiny bathroom sink and stared at herself in the mirror while she caught her breath. What was it about him that made her so… volatile?

Someone knocked against the door.

"One minute," she called.

Another knock, harder.

"I said one minute!"

There _was_ an occupied sign on the outside, wasn't there? When yet another loud knock rapped against the door, she undid the lock and slid open the door, thoroughly irritated. That quickly evaporated when she looked up to see those gosh darn hazel eyes.

"Ken—"

She couldn't get out another word, because he stepped forward and captured her mouth with his. She stumbled backwards, back into the bathroom, with the force of his kiss. He squeezed into the tiny bathroom after her, the door sliding shut behind him on its own accord. He had backed her so far into the small space, that she was bent backward, halfway over the sink. He lifted her up a little, so that she was sitting on the counter, her head pressed against the mirror. When he broke away, she gasped, torn between being desperate for wanting his lips on hers again and being astonished at what was happening and what they were doing.

Ken seemed to be feeling the same conflict of interest. His eyes widened.

"I'm sorry," he said he said slowly, in shock. "I don't know… that was—I don't usually—"

"You better lock that door," Sara said in a low voice, glancing behind him.

"What?"

"The door," she repeated pointedly.

Slowly, without his eyes leaving hers, he reached behind him and locked the sliding door.

"You're serious?" he asked.

"It's been a long time coming."

"Hell yeah, it has."

He leaned into her, kissing her deeply. One of his hands rested on her waist, the other, he lifted to cup her breast. He moved his thumb back and forth, rubbing her nipple through the fabric of her shirt. She felt herself moan against his lips.

He kept one hand on her chest, while the other struggled to undo the button of her jeans. They had a hard time wiggling her out of them without their lips parting, but Ken was strong, he lifted her off the counter with just one hand, tugging them over her butt, and somehow they managed to get them down to her ankles. He put a firm hand on her knee and pushed her legs apart. He wasted no time, pushing her panties aside and putting two fingers into the fabric. He brushed the fingers up and down, not making any sort of intrusion, but making her shudder at the contact.

Her hands left his face and reached for his belt buckle. That was the easy part, but there was little room for him to step out of his jeans. He had to twist sideways a little, towards the toilet, tripping a little as he toed off his shoes and stepped out of them. He laughed huskily, and Sara made a grab at his crotch, making him gasp instead.

She had no idea how much noise they were making, but she hoped nobody could hear what was going on inside the tiny lavatory. She had no idea if they would be in trouble for something like this. It seemed like something that only happened in the movies.

He smelled _so _good. She buried her face in his neck as she tugged at his boxers, pulling them down first with her hands, and then with her feet, until they were with his pants at his ankles. She took him in her hands, wrapping her long fingers around him, and he moaned into her ear. He stepped forward as much as he could, so that his length was pressed between her thighs, pushing at her core through the fabric of her underwear. He slipped an arm around her again and lifted her off the counter a few inches, using his free hand to tug at the cotton fabric. He pushed them to her knees, and she helped him the rest of the way, using her feet to kick them off. He set her back on the counter, gently, and spread her legs as wide open as he could, slipping a palm into her shirt and under her bra, squeezing at her nipples. Her response made her tighten her grasp around him, and they both moaned involuntarily.

"You are… you're intoxicating, Sara," he murmured. "You have any idea how long you've tormented me?"

"I have an idea," she breathed.

He pushed into her, and she gasped. She reached out and pressed her hands against either side of the bathroom walls, steadying herself. He drew all the way out and slammed back into her, pushing her against the mirror. He put his hands on her waist, holding her hips as he moved. He rocked gently at first, picking up momentum as quickly as Sara was losing her breath. They hit another patch of turbulence and the plane shook around them, making them both bounce and jostle a little, feeling him bounce and jostle within her.

She was getting very, very close, and she could sense that he was too. He moved even faster, the bare skin of their hips making a rhythmic slapping noise each time they met. Sara could feel herself losing control, and she grabbed his head, pulling her to him and covering her mouth with his lips, hoping that his kiss would muffle the whimpers and moans of her orgasm. She could feel his legs giving out, and she squeezed her muscles tight, clamping around him. He pushed his lips even firmer against hers as his own orgasm rocked through him.

They both stilled, their lips no longer touching, but only millimeters apart, both struggling to catch their breath. Ken breathed out slowly.

"I cannot believe we just did that."

"What do we do now?"

The struggle to get their pants and underwear back on was even more difficult than getting them off. Sara curled up on the counter, swinging her long legs out of the way as best she could as Ken dressed, then he pressed himself into the corner as she did the same. It was a good thing they were both relatively thin, otherwise there would have been little room to move a finger.

"Let's, uh…" he stammered.

"Yeah," Sara cut in, suddenly aware of how awkward the morning after one-night stands must be.

"Okay," he said. "I'll, uh, go out first. Wait a little, okay?"

Sara nodded, and he slipped from the bathroom, unlocking the door and sliding it shut behind him. She slid off the counter, still numbly aware of what just happened. That was _not _like her. But she and Ken had a throbbing sexual tension that had lasted years. It was bound to get out of her system eventually. She turned around, looking into the mirror she was just pressed against, dabbing the sweat off her forehead and trying to fix her tousled hair. She felt… odd. Satisfied, but not as… enthusiastic as she would have imagined after acting out a long-felt desire.

That was… great, to be sure, but she wondered if Ken's best feature still remained his eyes. She was pretty sure they wouldn't see each other while in Miami, and pretty sure they wouldn't be together again.

She took a deep breath and slipped out of the bathroom, walking up the opposite aisle from Ken's seat, and fighting hard not to glance back at him. She climbed over Megan's legs as gracefully as she could and settled herself back into her seat, fastening the seatbelt around her waist. Megan stirred beside her.

"What did I miss?"


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **There are a lot of differing sources about the timeline after Sara finished at Berkeley. The old "official" CBS bio says it took one year for her to get a job at the coroner's office, and worked there for five years before becoming a CSI. That would put things at 1998, but Sara and Grissom meet in 1998, and she's already a CSI. So I eliminated that year, as it doesn't seem to make any sense. Now that you're thoroughly confused, we'll continue.

* * *

><p>Somehow, between all the hours she was putting in at the coroner's office, she managed to get to get to New Haven in May for Megan's wedding. Straight afterwards, she traded in her bridesmaids dress for her lab coat and went straight back to work in the morgue. She was learning more from Dr. Hawkins that she could ever imagine, he was a professional and had seen pretty much everything. The unofficial education he gave her in the office, was worth more to her than a formal education in forensics.<p>

She listened, watched, observed and learned for five years. Five years she worked alongside Dr. Hawkins in the coroner's office, and she learned five years' worth of tips, tricks, methods and procedures. And after five years, she was ready to get out of the coroner's office, and positively itching to get into the field, along with Brady and the other CSIs. She brought it up cautiously to Dr. Hawkins as they cleaned up after a post.

"I always knew you wouldn't be down here with me forever," he said. "You're much too clever and… eager… to be stuck in the morgue for the rest of your career."

He winked at her.

"I'll talk to Brady," he said. "He likes you, and he has a good working relationship with the lab directors. We'll see what we can do."

The next weekend, Brady convinced her to go out for a drink for his birthday.

"So I talked to the lab director the other day," Brady said casually over the music of the bar, swirling his Bud Lite around in the bottle. Sara's heartbeat quickened.

"Yeah?" she replied as casually as she could. "And?"

He smiled coyly at her.

"And you owe me the next round," he said. "Old Adam Riley, who's been at the lab practically since forensic science was invented, is finally retiring. I convinced him you're the best person for the open job."

Her mouth dropped open.

"You're serious?"

"Dead," he replied. "Hang up your scalpel, Sidle, you're a CSI now."

Two weeks later, she officially transferred to the San Francisco crime lab as a CSI level one. For the first few months, she worked the mundane cases – the robberies, domestic disturbances and routine breaking-and-enterings. She never complained, and instead, worked them with diligence and professionalism. She was by far the youngest of her co-workers on the swing shift. That impressed some of them, but it left the majority of them underestimating her. They were constantly double-checking her work and micro-managing her responsibilities. It was frustrating, but still, she never complained, knowing that her skills and intuition would speak volumes, and soon her reputation would speak louder than her age.

* * *

><p>It took longer than she expected. Law enforcement, and similarly forensics, was a very male-dominated field. She was one of two women on swing, so she not only had her age to contend with, but also her sex. She had to fight for respect, and literally claw her way up from the bottom of the food chain. Sometimes it felt like Brady was her only ally, and the others were constantly fighting against her will to succeed.<p>

After a year or so, her days of going the extra mile finally started to pay off, and she was allowed to work the cases that were complicated, high profile or sought-after, alongside the CSI threes and most respected detectives. They stopped calling her 'kid' and started listening to her first-blush theories instead of chuckling them off. And in the summer, when a handful of invitations to seminars prepping for that year's Forensic Academy Conference were delivered to the lab, her supervisor passed over several of her superiors and gave one of the seats to her.

It was her moment of triumph. The first moment when she felt all her hard work had finally, truly paid off. Brady had been given an invitation too, and the two of them boarded the plane with several of their co-workers, none of them more anxiously excited than her.

To them, the weeklong seminar was a drag, a series of lectures about things they already considered themselves experts in. A week off work, perhaps, but largely a waste of time. To Sara, it was an opportunity to surround herself with professionals and prove to them exactly what she had proved to her own lab. That she was not only capable of surviving in this profession, she excelled at it.

And to her great relief, the professionals attending were refreshingly unassuming. If they at all doubted her competency because of her age or sex, they didn't show it. CSIs from across the country invited her to their after-lecture dinner discussions and asked for her opinion instead of glossing over her as they went around sharing their thoughts and theories. They gave her helpful tips and words of advice, but not condescendingly so. She was one of them. And equal and a professional.

A few months later, she was granted the status of a CSI level two and handed her first serial case. Brady was the primary, but they worked together as a team.

It was a rape case. The case was filed by a twenty-four-year-old blonde woman who claimed she had been drugged at a bar the night before and couldn't remember a thing about what happened after. She'd woken up feeling sore and with bruises covering her body.

There was nothing at first to signal that it was a serial case. The woman was examined and given an SAE exam. There was no doubt that she was raped, and given GHB, but there was no trace of the attacker on her or in her. He bruised, but didn't scrape. She hadn't been conscious enough to fight back, and had no skin cells or other traces of DNA under her fingers. He had apparently been courteous enough to wear a condom, and left no seminal fluid or DNA behind.

Brady said it reminded him of a case he'd worked solo a few months before. The victim was a twenty-five-year-old blonde woman, who had had similar injuries, but the lack of evidence left on her or at the scene had resulted in no suspects and a cold case. When he pulled up the case file, he and Sara poured over it, scouring for more similarities. There were several. They lived only a few blocks apart, both of their tox reports came back positive for GHB, both were single, blonde and out with friends at a bar when they were drugged. They re-interviewed the first victim, but she couldn't remember any more than she had the day she filed the report.

A week later, another blonde young woman filed a similar report. Brady handled the paperwork, and Sara sat with the frightened woman, collecting her statement.

"Anything that you can remember would be helpful, Gina," she told her.

"I c-can't… I can't remember," she said regretfully. "I _wish_ I could, but it's just… snapshots… all fuzzy."

Sara nodded sympathetically, her heart breaking for the victim she couldn't help.

"I will get the guy who did this to you," she promised. "I won't stop until I find him."

She pulled triples, clocking in an inordinate amount of overtime straining for any trace of a hint of who the rapist might be. Brady tried his hardest to keep her from getting involved, tried sending her home, but when neither worked, he joined her in her research, meticulously pulling apart each case, trying to find something. Anything.

Three weeks later, they caught a break. A fourth woman came into the police station, claiming she had been drugged and raped. Her physical appearance and testimony matched the MO of the other cases, except that he might have gotten sloppy, or over-excited in his attempt to drug her. He hadn't put the full dose of GHB in her drink, so while she was unable to resist and clearly not in a sober state, she was able to remember more details than the other women. She remembered he drove a minivan, and it was green. She remembered the plate had 26 and LG in them, because they happened to be her initials and age.

The fire was lit under her again, and she ran a search of similar vehicles registered in the area. She got a hit for a Lucas Brenamen, who had been charged ten years ago on drug related charges. She notified PD, and they brought him in. She was ready to throw everything at this guy until he confessed. She was ready to nail him.

Except Brady wouldn't let her do the interview.

"What do you _mean _I'm not talking to him?" she asked venomously. "_I_ found him, Brady. _I _talked to the four girls that he's raped, saw how terrified they are—"

"_Exactly_, Sara," he stressed. "You're _too close_. These girls are your age – they could be your friends – and you've seen how it's tearing them up. You're running with your emotions, and not your logic. It happens to all of us – it's happened to me – but someone needs to hold you back. I'm sorry, Sara, but that person has to be me."

"But—"

"I've been working these cases right alongside you," he cut in. "I wanna see this guy charged just as much as you do. _I do_. But in order for that to happen, you need to let me do this."

Sara sighed, still ticked, but not seeing how she was going to get her way.

"Fine."

So she stood, arms crossed and heart beating, behind the one-way glass as Brady interrogated Lucas Brenamen. He was a slick son-of-a-bitch with an answer for everything. He admitted knowing two of the victims, casually, but denied ever lying eyes on the others, despite the fact that his vehicle matched their victim's description to a T, and he had a bruise on the side of his face the size of Texas.

"Where'd you get that?" Brady asked, gesturing to the bruise.

"Oh, football," he shrugged. "Guys can be rough."

The interview quickly went downhill. Besides from the identification of his van, they had no forensic evidence, DNA or otherwise, to place him at the scenes or with any of the women. There was no evidence of the women in his van, although a search found a small bag of GHB under the front seat. They booked him on drug possession, and Sara lost it.

"He's the guy, Brady, and you know it," she exclaimed.

"He's in jail, Sara."

"He'll be out on bail by tomorrow!"

"And in the meantime, we'll test his GHB and see if it matches the characteristics of the batch used on our vics," he said. "If it does, we'll have more cause for a warrant, and we'll search his home. This is how it works, you know that."

"He could run away in the meantime, disappear forever – _you _know that!"

He put his hands up.

"Sara, as your friend, you need to calm down," he said. "As the lead on this case, you have to detach yourself emotionally, or I'm going to have to pull you off the case."

She glared at him.

"You can't do that."

"I don't want to," he said calmly. "Don't make me. Go get the GHB to toxicology. We'll go from there."

But the sample collected from Lucas's car did not match the batch of drugs used in any of the four cases. He made bond and was released a few days later. Sara watched him walk out of the department, a smirk on his face, and felt an anger she had never felt before. She didn't even notice Brady walk up behind her.

"Let's go get a drink," he suggested.

"That won't help," she scowled.

"Well, neither will going home and fuming about it," he said. "Let's go."

Seated at a table of the bar that was a usual haunt, she still didn't see how this would possibly make things better. Brady bought her a beer and placed it on the table in front of her. He swigged his own.

"I know how you feel," he said, as she looked at him steely. "Think punching someone would be the only thing that'll help? Trust me, you just end up with a sore hand."

She only sighed and sipped her beer reluctantly.

"Nobody talks about this part of the job when you sign up," he continued. "That top-of-the-world, adrenaline rush feeling you get when you crack a case, everyone talks about that. But the… anger, the disappointment, the feeling like everything you worked so hard to prove isn't worth crap… no one tells you that your first day on the job. And it sucks."

She sighed again, finally meeting his eyes.

"How do you deal with it?" she asked.

Brady shrugged.

"You just do," he said. "Everyone has their own way of coping… some people refuse to cope as their way to deal with it, but… you can't let it get to you. Not every case gets solved. Not every rapist or murderer or otherwise gets caught. Not every case gets justice. That's just the way it is."

Sara shook her head.

"What about the promise I made to Gina?" she asked, referring to the third victim.

"I know it's hard, Sara, especially when you make an emotional connection to the victim," he said. "But… you can't make promises like that. It makes it harder, for them, and for you, when you can't come through."

"I can't just let this go."

"You have to," Brady urged. "You just… have to."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **This is for CSIFan8686... happy birthday one day late! I think there are things you will all like in this chapter :)

WE MADE IT!

* * *

><p>That year's forensic conference was being held in San Francisco, a few weeks after Sara's 27th birthday. There were only a limited number of CSIs the lab could send. Some CSIs didn't want to go, or couldn't, and the seats then had to be divided between those who were left. They took rank and seniority into consideration, as well as who had been able to attend in the years previous. Somehow, miraculously, Sara was invited to attend. Perhaps because of her enthusiasm at the seminar the previous summer. In any case, she accepted without hesitation.<p>

Brady wasn't going, but he wasn't upset. He had just started dating a girl named Rachel, and for once, he was okay taking a time-out from his career to give his personal life a little more attention.

"You should try it some time," he chided. "When was the last time you went out on a date?"

"Does an airplane bathroom count?" she teased right back. "Hmmm… five years ago."

"You need to get out more," he said seriously. "Put down your scanner, put down your books and go out and get a drink with someone."

"The books are more interesting than people."

He scoffed, pretending to look offended.

"Most people," she amended with a smile.

"Seriously. Sara. You're twenty-seven, beautiful and smart," he said. "I think if you give people a chance, you'll be surprised."

"I'm _not_ good with people," she said. "You know that. Give me evidence and blood samples any day."

When he continued to stare at her, she sighed.

"I think I've been let down by people too many times to want to give them another chance," she admitted.

"Is that why you hide behind your job?" he asked. "Or is it because you're afraid of what you might discover when you slow down?"

She paused and a silence settled between them.

"Sorry," Brady apologized quickly. "I didn't mean to turn things so… serious. I just worry about you. I mean, look at me. I'm thirty-five, and in my first serious relationship since college. Go at the rate you're going, and you'll only end up the female version of me."

"I could do worse," she winked. "Seriously, don't worry. I'm fine. I have my career, and… that's enough. Plenty. I haven't met anyone that's made me feel otherwise."

"Okay," Brady surrendered. "Lemme see that schedule of yours."

She passed him the five-day conference schedule.

"Dr. Lawrence… I heard him speak at a conference ten years ago, he really knows his stuff," he said. "Dr. Burke, she's a bit old-fashioned, but she knows her way around a crime scene. Dr. Grissom…"

He wrinkled his nose.

"What?" Sara asked, snatching the schedule back and looking at which session Dr. Grissom was supposed to teach. "I was kinda looking forward to his lecture."

"I've never met him," he shrugged. "But a friend from school works in the Minneapolis lab, and she worked under him for a few years. Says he's pretty dull… much more interested in bugs on bodies than… well, pretty much everything else."

"Bugs?"

"Forensic entomology," he said. "Never understood it. Sounds weird."

She folded the schedule and put it back into her bag. Brady laughed.

"Hey, just giving you the word," he said. "By the sound of it, that's one you can skip in favor of a cup of coffee."

"You're just jealous I got an invitation and you didn't," she teased, grabbing her bag.

"Hardly," he called after her. "Have fun! Don't let me know how the bug guy is!"

When she got to the conference on the first day, she felt like a kid who had an innumerable amount of candy stores placed in front of her, and was able to choose whichever ones she liked. She spent the first morning socializing and asking questions, and spent the afternoon planning out a precise schedule of which lectures she wanted to attend, based on everything she had gathered from chatting with her colleagues.

There were two lectures scheduled for Wednesday afternoon, a textbook class on chain of custody she already knew like the back of her hand, and Dr. Grissom's lecture. She knew Brady would make fun of her for choosing the bug lecture instead of having the afternoon off, but she knew little to nothing about entomology, forensic or not, and she never passed up an opportunity to learn something new.

She gathered her notes and books from her apartment and headed to the hotel where the conference was being held. She was making her way through the lobby when she recognized Dr. Moore, the pathologist who gave the seminar at Harvard that had peaked her interest in forensics in the first place. She introduced herself and told him so.

"And here I was thinking that all I succeeded in doing was gross out thirty twenty-year-olds," he winked. "Of course, you were never really like the others."

"You remember me?"

"Of course," he said. "You are, to this day, the only student to make me prepare for my own lecture."

She laughed.

"It's great to see that you achieved your goal," he said, patting her arm. "You had potential then, and you have it now. I know you will be successful."

She smiled at him as he walked away, realizing how late she was for the bug guy's lecture. She jogged down the hall, pushing the door open and slipping into an open seat on the end of the aisle. Luckily, Dr. Grissom seemed to have been running late as well, as he was just setting up the overhead projector and turning to face his audience.

Sara opened her notebook, reached into her bag for a pen and looked up. Into the clearest, bluest, kindest, deepest set of blue eyes she had ever seen.

She felt something in her stomach she had never felt before. It wasn't a twisting desire, like with Ken, or a flutter of butterflies, like it had been with Michael. It was… well, it was indescribable. It was hard to take her gaze off those blue eyes, but when she did, she saw soft brown curls, graying just ever so slightly at the temples, a boyish face and an imperfect, but endearingly shy smile.

When he started talking, she found herself, if it was even possible, more entranced. His voice was soft, but deep, and you could just tell by the way he spoke that he was intelligent. Not just intelligent about what he did, but well-read and worldly. A little ashamedly, she let her eyes glance over his body. He wasn't just handsome, he was downright perfect.

She forced herself to focus on his words. He was talking about how easy it was to let intuition get in the way of procedure. How sometimes, your instinct could be so strongly leading in one direction, but if the evidence proved otherwise, your theory needed to change.

He started to make his point by running through a case he'd worked from a few years ago, a double murder in a garage.

"Anybody with a question as we run through the evidence, please, feel free," he said.

She raised her hand, and he looked right at her.

She could imagine that the shock she felt at their gazes connecting was akin to electrocution. She was rendered momentarily speechless, until she realized he was waiting patiently for her to ask her question. She fumbled out something she hoped sounded halfway intelligent, and he smiled, nodded and answered it.

She raised her hand several more times throughout his lecture. Far more than any other one person in the lecture hall. But she couldn't help herself, she wanted to look into his eyes again and again, wanted his blue eyes on her and only her.

When the lecture ended, she was thoroughly impressed. As those around her started shuffling out of their seats and through the door, she ducked down and pulled a mirror from her purse. Pieces of hair were falling out of her ponytail. She pulled the rubber band from her hair and smoothed back the flyaways, twisting it back again. She gathered her things, took a deep breath and approached the front of the room.

Dr. Grissom was behind the desk, gathering his own things. He smiled when he saw her approach. It made his eyes twinkle, and Sara nearly tripped over her feet.

"I can't say I'm surprised," he winked.

"Oh—sorry—I just…"

"No, no," he cut in gently, chuckling. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel bad. People usually sleep through my lectures, or listen to it with hands over their eyes. It was… a pleasant surprise, having a willing participant."

"Well, I… I really enjoyed your lecture," she smiled, trying to wipe the stupid grin off her face. She realized she hadn't even introduced herself. "Sorry, I'm Sara… Sidle."

He smiled and her heart flip-flopped.

"Nice to meet you, Sara."

She cleared her throat.

"So, you… briefly mentioned anthropology in your lecture," she started. "I didn't want to get into it when we had two dead bodies in a garage to deal with but… when would a forensic anthropologist be called into a case?"

"Well, oftentimes it's when there's a lack of identification," he said. "Medical examiners have several options when trying to determine ID, but sometime their efforts are not enough. Especially when a body is in a progressed state of decomposition."

"How long after a death can a body be identified?"

"It all depends," he answered. "Most of the time, even just bones could be sufficient to use for identification. Dental records have been especially helpful in the last few years."

"Well, then why are there so many John and Jane Does?" she asked. "If the methods exist, why do so many victims remain unidentified?"

He studied her carefully.

"You worked at a coroner's office at some point," he said. It was more of statement than a question, but she nodded anyway. "And I'm sure you came across your fair share of unidentified bodies. It's a particularly frustrating element of our job. It's hard to find justice for a victim if you don't know their identification. Unfortunately, reputable forensic anthropologists aren't easy to find. There just isn't enough time and not enough resources to investigate every unidentified victim. And even then, sometimes identification is just plain impossible."

She found her eyes appreciating the fine details of his face as he spoke. The slight wrinkle on the outside of his eyes, not pronounced, but easy to see when he smiled. The dip in his chin. He reached to close his briefcase, and she felt herself even staring at his hands. They were strong, but the way he moved, she gathered that he held a soft gentleness about him. Fleetingly, she was overcome with the thought of how his hands would feel on her skin, against her face.

With sharp realization, she became aware that a pause had settled between them. She wanted to ask him if he would be willing to continue their discussion over dinner, but somehow the words got lost in her throat.

"Is there really a body farm?" she blurted out instead.

He smiled slowly.

"Yes," he winked. "I've been there."

"That is so cool," she breathed. "I'd love to get my hands on some of those experiments."

His eyebrows raised in amusement.

"Well, not my hands, but… I mean, I'd like to see some of their experiments," she mumbled, blushing.

He only smiled again, and she had the distinct feeling that he was looking her up and down in the same way she did to him when she first arrived in the lecture hall. She suddenly became aware of her every imperfection, of how messy her hair looked because she hasn't had the time to shower that morning, how awkward her arms suddenly felt, held at her sides, and her blush only deepened under his gaze.

He motioned towards the door, his lecture materials gathered in his arms, and followed her out of the room.

"So, Miss Sidle," he said when they reached the lobby.

"Sara," she cut in. "You can call me Sara."

"Sara," he amended with a smile. She felt a slight twinge of excitement as her name rolled off his lips. "Where are you from?"

"Oh – here," she said. "Well, Tomales Bay. I work in the Frisco lab."

"Do you know a Dr. Andrew Hawkins?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed. "He taught me everything I know – about forensics, anyway. I worked in the morgue with him. How do you know him?"

"We met during a lecture series in Chicago," he replied. "We've kept in touch since. When I worked in Minnesota, he often helped with resources we didn't have or couldn't afford. He's a good man."

"And a great teacher," Sara added.

He made a noise of agreement from the back of his throat.

"You're lucky, working in San Fransisco," he said. "They have a very nice lab, from what I can remember."

"I like it," she agreed. "But _Las Vegas_? You've probably seen and solved cases we couldn't even imagine in little old San Fran."

He chucked again, and Sara felt herself smile. She wanted to make him laugh again and again.

"We do have our fair share of the unusual," he admitted. "But after enough time in this field, you come to see that crime is crime, no matter the city. Some places, unfortunately, just have more of it."

She nodded enthusiastically. They had reached the hotel's front door, despite keeping the pace of a snail.

"Of course, you're far too young to be learning those 'lessons of the trade' quite yet," he winked.

"Hey, I just had a birthday," she protested. "I'm not so young anymore. I even had a cup of tea before I went to bed last night. Just call me Grandma."

He chucked again as he gazed at her. She felt another smile spread warmly across her features.

"When's your next lecture?" he asked out of the blue.

"Oh—not until three," she replied.

"I've heard nothing but how great this coffee shop just around the block is," he said as her heart pounded. "I could tell you about the body farm… if you can stomach a cup of coffee while hearing about advanced decomp and insect activity."

"I can handle it," she smiled.

"I have no doubt," he grinned back. A few moments fell over them where they were each staring at the other, smiling in anxious-nervous excitement.

"I just—I need to drop this off in my car," he said, gesturing to his computer and notes. "I'll… meet you in the lobby?"

"Sure."

He put his free hand on the door's metal bar, ready to push it open, but paused. He turned over his shoulder.

"I'm… really glad to have met you, Sara," he said.

She had to literally fight to keep her breathing under control.

"Me too," she managed.

He smiled and walked away, and Sara waited several moments before rushing across the lobby to the payphone in the corner. She dialed Brady's home number, where she knew he would be. He answered on the first ring.

"What in the world is so important that it would distract you from your precious conference?" he said in his usual teasing voice.

She took a deep breath and smiled.

"I think I met someone who made me feel otherwise."

The End

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **So, that's that! For those of you who have read and reviewed along the way, I can't thank you enough! I had considered taking this story further, but as it's called "A Priori", and was meant to tell the story of what came before, I ultimately decided to end it here. Who knows, I might get cracking on an another bridging the gap between the conference and the Pilot.

Do me a favor and leave one last review! This chapter got re-read the heck out of it, so I'd really love to know what you thought. Til next time! x


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